


Sailing Amidst The Stars

by XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Abusive Father, Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Bitterness, Broken brother bonds, Chronic Illness, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Angst, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Gravity Falls AU, Hurt/Comfort, IDDM, Mental Health Issues, Multiverse Shenanigans, Other, Paranoia, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Separation Anxiety, and much much more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:45:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX/pseuds/XxDecipheringGravityFallsxX
Summary: Stan and Ford both go through the portal during that fateful day. Now the two brothers must learn how to reconnect and become brothers again; if they are to have any chance of surviving the unpredictable nexus that is the Multiverse. Will they come to terms with the hand that fate has dealt them, and stand together?Or will tensions boil and divide the two even farther apart? Will they travel together side by side? Or will they walk away from each other and part ways? The probabilities are vastly infinite, so curious souls, if you wish to know, then follow along in this: A Tale Of Two Stans Reprise.The Multiverse Edition!





	1. Prelude: There’s A Million, Billion, Trillion Stars, But I’m Down Here Low- Fussin’ Over Scars On My Soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for checking out my newest work! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I'll enjoy writing it for you all! I'd love, love, love, and appreciate to hear what you guys think about it. So if you would be as kind as to drop a comment telling me what you thought of it - I'd be over the moon with joy! As you can see, I am taking more time to be descriptive and using more fancy words, haha. I just want to make this fanfic a diamond in the rough! Anywho, hope you enjoy the Prelude!  
> _  
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           Embers fluttered and danced like a cluster of fireflies, as they drifted into the air of the somber eventide. Vanishing in their ascension as they came into contact with the nexus of luminescent stars that adorned the sky, just above the site of a battered and flimsy shelter. The shelter had been hastily constructed, only an elapsed interval of thirty minutes had been appropriated to create it.

         Though, in all actuality describing it as a shelter was rather redundant. Honestly it couldn’t be qualified as one, for it was just a hovel in every sense of the word. The top of the hovel was defective and incomplete, the structure itself had only three out of four walls. Only the side walls and back wall had been completed.

            The horrendously primitive shelter lacked a front wall, all of it being tied together with various vines- and other such materials that could be scrounged up within the perilous wilderness that isolated and surrounded them. Two disheveled men had hunkered down on either side of the fire backs towards each other.

          The two were nearly a mirror image of the other, save for the fact that there were minor differences that separated the two of them into their own individual beings. One wore glasses, had ruffled short cut hair, and had six fingers on each hand.

          The other lacked glasses, his hair was a long unkempt mullet, and he had the customary five fingers on each hand. Both of them sulking in their respective corners of the defective shelter. Neither of them speaking nary a word to each other. Both of them in voiceless resignation and resolution that it would remain this way for a monotonous allotment of time.

          The galaxy above reflected off of Stanford’s spare glasses, as he stared into the foreign sky. Attempting to distract himself, so that he may tune out the sound of rocks skittering across the dusty terra firma on Stanley’s side of the hovel.

        Sharp pangs of pain, in the form of an inevitable headache, blossomed throughout Stanford’s cranium. He proceeded to raise up his hands and massage at both of his temples, seeking to soothe the onslaught of the aching throbs. Time marched on in an almost lethargic manner.

        After an indeterminate amount of time had ticked by, Stanford couldn’t endure the sounds of the rocks skittering against the dust. He inhaled sharply in unbridled annoyance, and exhaled with an exasperated huff.

         Although he was unable to verbalize his vexation, he could express it by other means. Fortunately, and much to his relief, the sound of rocks being tossed against the dust subsided.

        The silence appeased him to a certain extent, the throbbing in his head began to ebb and falter. Leaving behind only pricks of dull pains in different areas of his head.

         As Stanford observed the cosmos above him, he began to estimate how long it had been since their arrival into the Multiverse.

        After a deliberation of around five minutes, he concluded that they had now spent approximately ten hours, thirty minutes, and fifteen seconds within the multiverse.

       A low gurgle shattered Stanford’s contemplative thoughts, the low gurgle was that of an empty stomach. The sound originating from Stanley, in response to his growling stomach, Stanley grumbled out some rather obscene choice of words before he flopped down onto his side.

     This however did not hush his stomach’s discontent. Stanley groaned as he curled up, staring blankly at the wall before him. He couldn’t recall the last time he had some decent grub, it had probably been roughly almost a week now, or maybe a week and a half? 

         He hadn’t exactly been keeping a track record, why would he even bother with such a mundane undertaking?

        He wasn’t an arrogant smart ass like Ford, who probably documented every meal he’s had every day for the past ten years.As Stanley allowed his thoughts to gallop amok, he didn’t hear the shifting of the dust on the other side of the fire.

        Didn’t take notice of the muffled shuffling of feet sounding off as Ford slipped out of the hovel.

        Stanford traversed the clearing by using only the silver-blue glow of the petite twin moons, and stars to guide his path.

      Vanishing into the treeline, leaving Stanley in solidarity, for about an hour or so.

       Unbeknownst to Stanford, his twin took that time to reflect on the situation they found themselves in. Stanley wasn’t at all certain how he felt about the whole ordeal, he didn’t even know if this was just a fabrication of his exhausted mind or if it was reality.

      Though he knew one thing for certain, and despite the hollowness in his stomach, the dispiriting thought that plagued him tormented him far more than his hunger pangs.

_‘Ford must hate me, damn it- this all my fault. If only I had takin' that stupid journal and done what he said, then we wouldn’t be in this mess. Ya really screwed it up this time, Stan.’_

      Just as he came to this conclusion, Ford returned, prompting Stan to turn his attention towards his brother. The sight that greeted him was rather comical in a way, if not pitiful. Ford was shivering violently, soaked from head to toe, but in one hand he held two medium sized…fish?

       Stanley squinted his eyes, trying to confirm that what Ford held were indeed fish, though in the end he couldn’t make any sense of the creatures. They didn’t reassemble any type of fish that could be found in their dimension.

       In Ford’s other hand Stan caught sight of a crudely whittled wooden spear. Causing him to wonder when Ford had the time to create it. Though he supposed his brother could have done so in the hour he had been M.I.A.  
  
       Ford must have fallen into a stream, pond or river while attempting to catch the fish? Again, Stan had no clue if they were even fish, though they had the traditional scales, there were still things that separated them from the fish of Earth.

       For starters these creatures had a few fins too many, were colored unlike any kind of fish Stan had ever encountered, their eyes were as dark as obsidian, and they had sharp, jagged and slanted rows of teeth. As Stan gazed intently at the bizarre creatures, Ford had settled into a sit besides the fire, back on his side of the hovel.

    Ford then produced a small knife from the pocket of his pants, this in turn caused Stan’s eyes to widen slightly. Since when had Ford ever carried a pocket knife around with him?

       However, the shock faded as quickly as it came after he remembered that Ford nearly splattered his brains with a crossbow when he'd come face to face with him for the first time in over a decade. 

       Now the revelation of Ford having a pocket knife didn’t surprise him in the least, his facial features shifted from shock to a more neutral expression. He watched on as Ford meticulously prepared the creatures for consumption, all the while the gurgles from the pit of his stomach grew ever louder and even more bothersome.

        Stan pushed himself into a sit, his attention now fixated on the fire as he tried to keep his mind off of his hunger. Though, the distraction of the flickering flames didn’t last long, for Ford had pushed the creatures back onto the spear and placed the spear over the fire to roast. With calculated and deliberate turning of the spear, the fish creatures began to sizzle. 

        The delightful aroma of the sizzling meat caused Stan’s mouth to water. He promptly wiped his salivation away with the sleeve of his coat. He wondered dismally if Ford was planning to share the fish, or if he was going to consume both himself.

        Stan wouldn’t have any right to complain and wouldn’t even blame Ford if he ate both, it’s not as though had any liberty to ask for one. Even though he desired to eat, he couldn’t ask Ford if he could have one.

        Every time he tried to speak to Ford since they had both gone through the portal, a lump would form in his throat and he felt as though he were suffocating. So asking Ford for a fish was out of the question.

        Finally after what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only ten minutes, the creatures were ready for consumption. And as Ford removed the first fish-like creature from the spear and silently offered it to Stan, his expression shifted drastically.

      Stan’s jaw was slack, his mouth opened wide as if to say something, but it didn’t seem as if he could find his voice. His eyes as wide as the two twin moons above them. His eyes glistened with an array of emotions that ranged from bewilderment to worry, and everything in between.

       He honestly couldn’t comprehend the fact Ford was offering him a fish, after all he didn’t deserve it after all the suffering he had inflicted on Ford. Wearily he reached out for the fish and took it into his hands timidly.

       He stared at Ford for the briefest of seconds, before he brought the fish up to his mouth and greedily began to wolf it down, as if he hadn’t been fed in an entire year.

     Ford took notice of his brother’s shift in facial expressions, and the bewilderment in his eyes. Though he didn’t remark on it, he still wasn’t ready to speak with Stan.

     Instead he shook his head at Stan’s utter disregard for manners, and then began to consume his own fish. No matter how infuriated he was with Stan at the moment, Ford wasn’t going to just let him starve.

Despite everything they were still brothers…

 

 

Weren’t they…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Title for The Prelude are lyrics taken from: Infinitesimal by Mother Mother.


	2. Louder Than Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -  
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> Sometimes the only wake up call, that can truly wake one up, comes with the fear that you're about to lose someone you love.  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
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> Oops I stangst'd again.
> 
> I would say I'm sorry for this. But I'm not.
> 
> The title of the chapter comes from the song Louder Than Thunder by The Devil Wears Prada.
> 
>  
> 
> {{A little warning to people that have Emetophobia: There's quite a graphic scene that pertains to tossing one's cookies. You can skip over the sentences that describe this- without missing anything that pertains to the plot.}}  
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* * *

The heat of the twin suns above the unruly wilderness proved to be a source of agitation for the two human twins, that were both tromping along a dirt path.

Stanley retracted his hand away from Ford's shoulder, thinking better of the action he was in the process of executing. The silence around them was unnerving, Stan loathed it with every fiber of his being.

He hadn't any clue as to why he'd been reaching out towards Ford, anyways. So he supposed whatever the reason was, it wasn’t anything that important.

They were trekking through the underbrush, nary a word had been uttered ever since they'd risen with the ascending twin suns in the sky above them.

The relentless heat surrounded them, causing beads of sweat to take up residence upon Stan's face. Even though the gigantic trees offered somewhat of a respite in the form of stretching shadows, shielding them from most of the rays of the twin suns, it wasn't enough to fend off the intense humidity.

Stan now understood that this is possibly how his and Ford’s birthday cakes felt like while in the oven.

A bitter chuckle almost slipped from him, but he managed to reclaim it and keep it from escaping by letting out a vexed sigh. He hadn’t given much thought about their birthday in a decade, he hadn’t seen any point in dwelling on it. He had been isolated from his twin, so why even bother in celebrating the day of his own birth?

  
Why do so, when he couldn’t share in the joys of it with his twin. They’d arrived together into this crazy game called life, and thus it was only right and just they should celebrate that together.Celebrating it alone would have felt unnatural; and in all honesty it probably would have made Stan sick to his stomach to even attempt celebrating it on his lonesome, therefore he never had. Speaking of being sick to his stomach, his gut churned unpleasantly, all this lingering on birthdays was making him nauseous.

 

He swiped at the sweat upon his face, which was scrunched up in a scowl. He trudged along behind his twin. Unable to stop his thoughts from flitting around within his mind, curiously they drifted to pondering what Ford was thinking at this very moment. Inwardly Stan cursed sharply at his thoughts, demanding that they cease in their pondering. Focusing on Ford was the last thing on his to do list of the day.

  
But, he supposed it was his fault for gazing at the back of Ford’s head. It didn’t take a genius to realize that if one didn’t wish to be entrapped in thinking about someone, then they shouldn’t be staring at them like an idiot. A sharp pang tore through him as he averted his gaze, looking anywhere else except for Ford. He had to do something, anything at all, so he could resist plunging back into thinking about his brother.

  
Alas, his thoughts wouldn’t leave him be, they assaulted him without mercy and burned deeply into every nook and cranny of his mind. He had been at a loss as to why he had just reached out to his brother moments prior; but now he recalled the reasoning behind his action.

 

He felt so alone.

 

So damn alone, so alone that everything in his body, down to even the most microscopic cells, hurt.

 

Every step he took felt as though he was stumbling bare foot across a pit of coal; that still radiated the potent and sweltering temperatures of a recent bonfire.

 

No, wait...

 

Through his jumbled thoughts, he came to realize that it wasn’t just his feet that were suffering from the steadily and rapidly rising temperature. His hand shot over his back, and collided with a stinging blow to his shoulder. He nearly let out a whimper as his hand rested against the raw and tender skin. Strange, the burn should have been healed up by now…right?

  
An overwhelming urge to scratch frantically, at his burn, overtook him without warning. Deep down in the depths of his subconscious, he knew it was a foolish idea to cave and give into his desire to tear into his burned flesh. His entire body burned as though he were a candle lit ablaze by a match dipped in gasoline that would further fuel the flames that danced within him.

The flames were everywhere, and they didn’t give a damn about Stan’s silent pleas for it to all stop. The flames burrowed at every surface, it didn’t matter if it was his skin, his muscle, or his bones. Nothing mattered to the inferno that had rapidly spread through him, and it just grew and grew. Hotter and hotter…so hot that he was soaked in his own sweat. It was as if he’d been catapulted into a boiling hot spring.

The world underneath him began to tremble violently, causing him to sway as he struggled to keep pace with Ford. Ford was still turned away from him, marching forward with conviction, blissfully unaware of Stan’s torturous inner plight. He was falling behind at an alarming degree. He took notice that Ford seemed undeterred at the vicious convulsions of the ground beneath them. In fact he didn’t seem to be aware of it, and he still maintained a brisk and steady pace.

  
And then somewhere in the boiling mush that his brain was threatening to become, it clicked and all at once Stan understood that it wasn’t the ground underneath his boots quaking. It was his own body that was doing so… it was as if he’d swallowed an earthquake for breakfast, which he hadn’t even had yet. Stan was well aware that swallowing an earthquake wasn’t possible, but that’s what his body felt like.

The burning that he thought had been tearing into him, was in fact doing the exact opposite. The burning hadn’t begun externally but rather internally, and the origin point was the brand upon his shoulder. Then it had swelled like a wave and surged through him, and his blood was comparable to thick molten lava. His vision began to blur as he stumbled forward desperately, in his urgency to keep up with Stanford. But despite his efforts his brother drifted farther away from him.

The distance between Stan and Ford advanced with every step they took. Stan felt his heart skip several beats, leaving him breathless and disoriented, his eyes glistening with scalding tears.

 

What the actual fuck?

 

What was wrong with him this time? Stanley Pines was no stranger to illness. He’d had spent plenty of nights the past decade where he’d be burning up, hunched over, hacking up his guts, his entire body shaking like a leaf. But this was something else entirely, this didn’t feel like your run of the mill flu. Also why did his shoulder hurt so damn much, was it becoming infected? He didn’t rightfully know.

If it was, he was at a loss as to why it would be doing so, considering it had been… two weeks….three…four…? Hell he’d lost track, but the point is it had been nearly two to four weeks since he and Ford plummeted into the portal. They had spent the first few weeks, on the run, in a place that looked what Stan imagined Hell to be like. And then they’d finally escaped from that hellscape yesterday, spent last night in their hastily made hut, and then they’d been walking all day today.

His brand mark hadn’t been causing him any issues thus far, so for fuck’s sake why was it suddenly flaring up? His blurred vision cleared up momentarily; and then he felt as if his entire universe froze over in ice. The blaze inside of him came to an abrupt halt, and everything was ice cold.

  
Stanford was gone.

  
He wasn’t anywhere in Stan’s field of vision. Bile rose up in his throat and his lungs expanded and deflated rapidly, as erratic breaths heaved through him. His world spun and the fire ignited with a vengeance, now his body was a tempest of fire and ice. Stanford was gone…

  
Stanford was gone…

  
Oh God.

  
Stanford had abandoned him…!?

  
It’s not like Stanley hadn’t been expecting it, and he no doubt deserved it… but why? Why so soon, and why in this moment? Why had Stanford left him alone- while he was in such tumultuous agony? Surely his brother wouldn’t be that cruel?

  
No…

  
No Stanford wasn’t that heartless. Stanley knew he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have left him all alone.But then again… a chill rushed up his spine, as he let out ragged hacking coughs into the palm of his hands.

It wasn’t as though Stanford hadn’t abandoned him before, so perhaps Ford was cruel enough to leave him behind once again. Stanford had left him all alone for ten years, after all. And well- that did seem like a rather heartless thing to do, especially considering the fact they were twins. Ford had also been acting as though he’d suffered through something quite traumatic.

So did he really know Ford anymore? What if he had become cruel enough to do something like this?

  
After all he had the right do so, and shouldn’t he be allowed to do so? Even if it was cruel, Stan knew he deserved it. He had broken Ford’s project, ruined his future and then betrayed him and his trust when Ford needed him the most. Instead of taking that damn journal as requested, he’d nearly destroyed it as well just like he destroyed Ford’s project.

A project that he had spent around damn near a month constructing, sacrificing sleep over, sometimes even skipping meals. He’d poured his blood, sweat, and tears all onto the machine. And then Stan, though he hadn’t meant to, oh hell he hadn’t meant to, broke it, crushing his brother’s dream and his heart.

Then he had nearly done it again with the Journal. He had been so furious when Ford asked him to take the Journal, just like he had been back then at Ford’s project, all his fury had reached a boiling point. The Journal became the target of his anger, he couldn’t grasp why that damn Journal was more important to Ford than his own flesh and blood.

Stan had let his rage take over and all he could think of was to destroy the Journal, because it was keeping him from his twin. It was like an unbreakable barrier between them, but Stan was hell bent on finding a way to shatter it, nonetheless. Ridiculous as it was, his logic was that if he destroyed Ford’s journal, then they could be brothers again. Yes, it had been a foolish leap in logic, and one that definitely wouldn't have worked. But anger clouded judgement, and left one blind.

 

  
Rage and fear had fueled him, he’d been so alone.

 

 

So alone…

 

 

So horribly alone.

 

  
He just wanted his brother.

 

He just wanted Stanford…

 

  
The isolation is killing him.

 

  
No…

 

  
The isolation had been killing him.

 

Ever since Ford had looked him in the eyes, the moment he needed him most, and drew the curtains closed.

 

And now Stan was going to….he was going to…

 

 

**He was going to throw up, is what he was going to do.**

 

Stanley plunged downwards as he lost his balance. He collapsed into the dirt, and his nails scraped and dug deeply down into it. He gasped and wheezed, his entire body rocking like a boat being tossed around by rough seas.

The bile swirled like a twister inside of his stomach, and then the bile in him erupted, comparable to that of a volcano blowing its top. 

It spouted up and out of his esophagus, and it burned as if he’d drank scalding liquid. He emptied the contents of his stomach over and over, it was a flood of putrid vomit with seemingly no end in sight. Time escaped Stan and he had no idea how long he remained hunched over.

   
Stan was an absolute fucking wreck. He was as sick as a dog…

   
This wasn’t no flu. That much he’d gathered. Whatever it was, it was merciless and cruel. It was burning him from the inside out and he was helpless to do anything about it.

After a few more heaves, Stan was finally released from the session of disgorgement. His arms and legs threatened to give out on him, and if he didn’t move he’d end up lying in his own vomit. The task of moving away from his puddles of sick was an arduous undertaking.

He scrambled away clumsily and directionless, he didn’t know where he’d go to curl up and die. But it didn’t matter, Hell, he could just surrender here and now. He was far enough away that he wouldn’t risk landing in bile. A flicker of movement caught his attention, the branches of a tree swaying as a surprisingly cool breeze tumbled through the air. Stan pathetically dragged himself, his stomach scraping against grass, rocks, and leaves all the while as he did so, over to the tree. He curled up into a pitiful heap…

 

He was going to die.

   
And he was going to die all alone.

He didn’t want to die alone.

He didn’t want to die alone.

He didn’t want to die alone.

He didn’t want to….die… alone.

  
He didn’t want to die.

   
Period.

 

He had no right to even utter the next word, none at all, but it escaped his vocal cords and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The word came out of his vocals in the form of a frail, ragged, strained, and faint whimper.

“St-Stan…ford…”

Silence…nothing but deafening and chilling silence…but then-

“STANLEY!”

 

Stanley’s heart stuttered inside of his chest, as he heard the unmistakable baritone voice that he knew belonged to his twin. He tried to sit up, but his body was as stiff as the petrified corpse of a recently deceased animal.

  
Everything hurt.

  
Everything hurt so much.

  
Through his pain he only managed to shift his head towards the sound of Ford’s voice.

  
Their gazes locked…

  
Ford was knelt down right next to him, staring upon him, and he was as pale as freshly fallen snow. His face was contorted in silent panic. Stan could see that Ford was wrecked with tremors, tremors that almost tied in intensity of Stan’s own.

  
A low and feeble sob left Stan’s parted jaw, as he stared into his brother’s eyes, Ford’s soft brown eyes were glistening with sheer and unrestrained terror. Stan mustered up what minuscule fortitude he had left to give, reached out to Ford, his arm shaking vigorously as he did so.

 

“F-Ford…” He rasped, his chest rapidly rising up and down with the harsh exertion he was enduring, he was trying to grasp his hand around his brother.

It didn’t matter what he grabbed a hold of, his shoulder, his leg, his arm, his hand. Anything would do… he just needed to take a hold of his brother. Because, he was gripped with the most potent rush of terror he’d ever faced in his entire life.

 

And he needed a lifeline...

  
Stanley Pines had been through many life threatening situations. He’s had guns aimed at him, knives pressed against his skin, hands clasped around his neck. He had stared the Grim Reaper in its ugly face multiple times in the last decade.

Yet all those harrowing experiences paled in comparison to this instant in time. The difference between those moments and this, is that there was always a way out in those bleak moments. He had escaped death back then, because escape was an option available to him.

He could escape being gunned down, he could escape being shanked, he could escape from being strangled to death. But he couldn’t escape from his own body actively attempting to kill him. His body was on a mission, one that figuratively involved him being burnt away into nothing but ash.

“I’m here.” Ford murmured, struggling to keep the terror out of his voice, trying to remain composed. He took Stan’s hand in his, and gave it a soft squeeze.

“I’m…I’m right here, Stanley.” He couldn’t even begin to fathom what had gone haywire inside of Stanley, that would leave him in such a poor condition, and in such an abrupt manner no less.

Just hours ago Stan looked well, not what Ford would describe as being in prime health, perhaps adequate enough health, but he certainly hadn't appeared peaked.

At least, Ford hadn't thought so... though perhaps he had missed the telling signs of sickness. He had after all been lost in a labyrinth of his own thoughts, and the last time he'd glanced back at Stan had been around roughly two hours ago.

Ever since they had headed out on their trek, Ford had stolen the occasional glances over his shoulder at his twin, and he reluctantly admitted to himself that it was out of of the fear that Stan might fall behind and he might lose him in this untamed wilderness.

So, after realizing with a start, that he hadn't made certain Stan was still behind him for over a span of two hours- he had glanced back around to check on him. Much to Ford's horror Stan hadn't been anywhere in sight. And he rounded so swiftly upon the path, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He frantically charged back the way he'd came, pleading that Stan hadn't gotten lost or that he hadn't fallen into some mortal peril. 

Unfortunately, his worries of Stan being struck with mortal peril had become a reality. Now here Stan was, lying before him so sickeningly pale, with horrid dark circles underneath his eyes.

There was a plethora of horrific afflictions that Stan could be stricken with. And it was torture that Ford was unable to come to a definite conclusion on what was causing his twin such agony.

And even worse yet, Stan might just be sick with a virus that wasn't even known to humanity. However, there were other possible causes for Stan's rapid deterioration in health. What if he wasn't sick in the traditional sense?

What if Stan was poisoned? Say for instance he'd become ravenous due to not having breakfast? What if he had plucked something off of a plant, and consumed it, without being aware if it was fit for human consumption? Or perhaps venom was the cause of Stan's torment? What if he'd been bitten by a creature that secreted fatal toxins by way of its fangs?

If any of those were the case, then the outlook for his twin was dire and frightfully bleak. He felt hopelessness sinking deeply, like a ship with a hole in its hull, down into the depths of his soul.

  
“Fo-Ford…don’t…don’t….le-leave me.” Stan begged between breathless sobs, he could hardly curl his own fingers around Stanford’s hand. His eyelids nearly fluttering closed, as he struggled to get enough air to his starved lungs.

  
“I won’t.” Ford assured, but it came out more sharply than he’d intended, and he felt a pang of guilt tear into his chest when Stan flinched- as though he’d been physically struck. “St-Stanley I..- no… I didn’t….I didn’t mean- just…” He stammered pathetically, as he mentally cursed himself for sounding so blunt.

“Look at me Stan.” He removed one of his hands from their hold on Stan’s hand. He then reached out with that hand and cupped Stan's cheek. He gently titled Stan’s head just enough, so that his twin could look him in the eyes.

“I’m right here, and I’m not going to leave you. I…I didn’t mean to sound… I didn’t intend to. I was just trying to stay focused and not panic and I…. I didn’t take into account how harsh it might come across and I….” Ford struggled find the right words, he was frantically flipping through his own mental dictionary. He didn’t know what to say to atone for the unintended emotional pain he’d just inflicted upon his already suffering twin.

  
“F-Ford…”

  
“I swear Stanley, I didn’t intend to-“

  
“F-Ford…”

  
“I honestly didn’t mean to-“

  
“Stanford!” Stanley croaked out as loudly as he could possibly manage in his frailty. “Fo-Ford…I…just…it’s…o-okay.” He muttered in between his bouts of feeble coughs, and shallow gasps. “Just don’t…. leave…please don’t leave…” Tears rolled freely down his dreadfully pale cheeks.

  
“I won’t leave you.” Ford replied, this time making certain to tone down his vocals into a hushed murmur.

The hand that he still had around Stan’s tightened reassuringly. Meanwhile Ford gently brushed away Stan’s flowing tears, with the thumb belonging to his other hand that was cupping Stan's face.

  
“Pro-Promise?” Stan’s breathing was so faint and shallow, and his voice so weak that Ford had to hunch downwards just to hear him.

  
“I promise.”

  
Stanley’s barely open eyelids fluttered closed; and he succumbed to the darkness that had been beckoning him.

The only indication that he still harbored life within him was his unsteady and labored breaths. Ford sat there in the deafening silence. Too afraid to even move a muscle, fearing that if he did it would destroy his brother.

 

“Just…don’t leave me too, Ley.”

 

He waited and waited…

  
He didn’t know how long he waited.

  
But he waited.

  
For what?

  
Waited for his brother to either wake up or he waited…

  
Waited for the end.

 

For Stan to take one last breath.

  
He didn’t know which would come to pass, and he prayed that if there were a being of higher power somewhere out there, then they'd spare Stan's life.

So, Ford wouldn’t have to watch him perish. He prayed beyond all hope that somehow Stan would stand his ground, and fight to stay alive.

  
Stanford Filbrick Pines has never been more terrified in his life.

  
And the silence reigned down upon them.

 

 

Louder than thunder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> -  
> Thank you ever so kindly for tuning into this chapter! I do so hope you enjoyed it! If you did then perhaps leave a kudos or book mark this story for later.
> 
> Or perhaps leave a lovely little review for me to read. It would be much appreciated.
> 
> All of those things increase my power and give me the will to continue my stories~


	3. When the hope of morning starts to fade in me; I don't dare let darkness have its way with me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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> -  
> The miracle Ford has been holding out for has come to pass.
> 
> The question remains is if this miracle came in time, or if it is too little too late?
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from the song: Hope of Morning By Icon for Hire.  
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> -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -  
> This is 11 pages long! 11 pages! That's a lot of pages man! I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a kudos, or book mark, or review if you do! These all give me the will to continue! I bet you weren't expecting the next chapter so soon after the last. Well I thought I'd give you a treat! 
> 
>  
> 
> Another warning for people who have Emetophobia. There's another scene where Stan tosses his cookies. The bold words before and after will signal when Stan's done tossing his cookies. That way you can skip over the scenes so your phobia won't flare up.  
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* * *

 The faint tickle of Stan’s breathing glided across his shoulder.  

 

Ford marched onward, thinking only on the fact that he had to keep going, for the sake of his gravely ill twin. After spending an hour in those woods, looming over Stan, and not seeing any signs of his condition improving- yet not worsening either, Ford knew he had no choice but to move him.

 

Stan wouldn’t have had any chance of survival if they had stayed in those woods. As risky as it was to move Stan in such a frail state, it would have been exponentially more detrimental to Stan’s overall condition if they’d remained in the woods. So, Ford had, with careful and calculated precision, constructed a way that he’d be able to carry Stan upon his back.  

 

Yet, he’d done so in such a manner that Ford could still use his hands if he needed them; for example, if he needed to claim his pocket knife and fight off a beast or a being that meant to do them harm. He had put together a human sling that enabled him to move his brother with relative ease.

 

The idea was not only practical, but it also eliminated any chance of Stanley slipping off of his back. Ford had taken his trench coat and Stan’s jacket, he tied Stan’s jacket around his and Stan’s hips. Then he took up his trench cost and had tied it around Stan’s back and around his chest. Stan was safe and secure, leaning up against his back, his forehead resting upon his shoulder. It had been hours since they’d left the woods behind them. 

 

Currently Ford was making his way through a barren landscape, surrounded by a vast nothingness. It was such a stark contrast to the woods that they departed from. There wasn’t any sign of life anywhere, save for the occasional cluster of plants that would flicker into Ford’s line of sight. Ford’s distress and fear for Stanley only advanced in size as he honed in on the irregular rhythm of Stan’s heart, thrumming feebly against his back. With each passing moment the beat of his twin’s heart only seemed to falter further. 

 

He had yet to even stir since succumbing to unconsciousness, and Ford was precariously on the threshold of the belief that his brother was going to perish. An ember had nestled itself into the center of his soul, it sparked with indignation and contempt.  

 

All reserved for himself. 

 

Ford was appalled at his own mentality, for it was sending signals of solid logical conclusions he desired only to reject. There wasn’t any denying what he knew was about to come. The Grim Reaper was gliding somberly behind them, patiently waiting for Stan to surrender his soul. Ford began to amble more hastily along, as his thoughts dwelled upon this damming epiphany, he moved swiftly as though he was trying to outpace Stan’s demise. 

 

Ford was trying to elude the Grim Reaper, and conceal Stan’s dying light, from the sweeping range of his scythe. It was a task wrapped up in the harsh truth of impossibility, none could evade the somber beckoning whispers of death for long. A hollowness washed over Ford as he stared dismally at the horizon. The twin suns gradually began to descend and as they did so, Ford’s heart skipped a beat, swearing upon his very life that one sun was lowering decidedly faster than the other. 

 

Ford struggled to ward off the sense of foreboding that loomed over him. This vast and barren land was the equivalent to his hope, of which he had none. He came to a halt in the dusty valley and let his gaze wander up to the sky, he watched in woe begotten sorrow as the twin suns sank even further in the sky. With the sinking of the twin suns the warmth, that once ruled over the landscape, was being stolen away. The temperature leisurely began to dwindle, sluggishly, degree by degree. 

 

The coming chill of the night would only increase the likelihood that Stan’s already dire situation would escalate rapidly. Ford understood that the night chill would only lull his twin closer to the sweet release of death. With those grim ruminations in mind, Ford once more broke into a hasty stride, letting his gaze scan the land for anything that could be used for a shelter. His only hope in securing his brother’s vitality was to find somewhere to hunker down for the night, build up a substantial fire to stave off the frigid mistral, and keep an alert vigil over his brother. 

 

“F-Ford?” 

 

Ford almost missed the feeble voice of his twin, having been lost in the throes of his determination to find a suitable location to set up refuge for them both. The sound of Stan’s voice, although weak and uneven, was like music to Ford’s auditory range. Being awake was an indication of two prominent matters.  

 

Either, Stan stirring into awareness foretold that he sheltered within him more time to live. Or the other alternative, which caused Ford to tense shudder, was that Stan’s existence on the plane of living was measured. That Stan had only woken up because his eternal clock was ticking down to its last, and that he could feel himself being led into the oncoming path of the Grim Reaper’s scythe.  

 

Ford could only beseech that it was the former and not the latter. Stan wasn’t allowed to die on him, not when they had just secured one another again, after a decade’s worth of remoteness. He wouldn’t allow his brother to die, he was forbidden from doing so.

 

The Grim Reaper would just have to sod off and find another soul to collect, because Stan’s soul wasn’t on the menu. Stanley would endure through this, or so help Stanford he would engage in combat with the Grim Reaper, himself.  

 

He wouldn’t allow his little brother to be taken from him, not now, not ever again. Despite everything, no matter how infuriated Ford ever found himself at Stan, he still cherished him. He made a solemn vow that he’d never take Stan for granted ever again, he swore it upon his own grave even. 

 

His only regret was that it had taken something as drastic as Stan being on the verge of death for him to wake up; and realize to appreciate what he had before it was gone. He still had Stan, he wasn’t deceased yet, and Ford was going to appreciate the ever-loving daylights out of him, be damned if Stan liked it or not.  

 

That is to say, it was easier said than done because Ford knew they had a long road ahead of them in terms of reconciliation. Any linger grievances that still remained between them wouldn’t vanish overnight, it would take time and it would take work.  

 

“Yes Stanley?”  

 

“M’dizzy an’....an’ hu-hungry....” Stan muttered, a low groan rumbling deep inside his aching chest, he shuddered against his brother’s back. “T-Thirsty...t-too...” 

 

Ford listened intently to Stan listing off the issues that plagued him. He of course wasn’t a medical professional and he wasn’t in any standing to diagnose Stan, however that didn’t exclude him from narrowing down some probable reasons of Stan’s spasmodic plunge in constitution.  

 

“Anything else...?” He ventured deliberately, needing to gather further information before he settled on any theory pertaining to the scourge that had violated Stan’s body without his consent. 

 

 Stan had risen his head ever so slightly, his obscured gaze unable to make out any distinguishable features before him. The only thing he was able to conclude was that they weren’t in the woods anymore. “My s-sight...is b-blurrin’....h-hard t’see anythin’.” 

 

There wasn’t any greenery to the haze he was staring into, just hints of tan and yellowish-blotchy greens everywhere. He wondered if perhaps they were in a desert of sorts. “N’my head feels like it’s tryin’ to split apart.” He let his head fall back against Ford’s shoulder. “E-Everthin’ h-hurts...F-Ford.”  

 

Ford could feel his upper teeth piercing into his bottom lip, as he contemplated over Stan’s symptoms. His teeth sunk deeper into his lip as he furrowed his eyebrows, and clenched his hands into tight fists.

 

He absent-mindedly kicked out at a pebble in the dust, and he watched it skitter a few centimeters, displacing the dust. Clouds of dust rose into the air and tickled at Ford’s nose and his entire body seized up as he got a familiar sensation deep within his nostrils. His eyes watered and he let loose a soft expulsion of air in the form of a sneeze. 

 

To Ford’s shock, his ears were assaulted with something he hadn’t heard in a long time. It was his brother’s contagious and whimsical laughter. Although it wasn’t as exuberant as Ford remembered it, though that was probably due to Stan being as weak as he was. 

 

“Y-ya sti-sti-….ya st-still so-sound l-like a k-kitten.... b-bro.” Stan teased through raspy and hitched breaths. 

 

Heat rushed to the surface of Ford’s cheeks, as bashfulness took hold of him, and an indignant huff was elicited from his vocal cords. “I can assure you that I most certainly do not sound like a kitten, whilst I expel air through my proboscis.” He shook his head, grumbling in disdain underneath his breath. 

 

“Annddd...yah lost me.” Stan countered in a barely audible mutter. Taking in shallow gulps of air, his body gave off a tremble as a chilly breeze seemed to blow right through him, as though he were just skin and bones. “D-Don’t matter though, ya still s-sound like a kitten all th-the same, Sixer.” 

 

Ford came to an abrupt halt, almost falling due to how suddenly he froze up in place. His breath stilled in his lungs for only a brief interval in time, and then he took in quick and shaky inhalations of the crisp air.

 

His exhalations causing misty puffs of white to form in front of his face, fogging up his glasses to the point he ripped them off his face and clutched them in his hands.

 

“DON’T. CALL. ME. THAT.” Every syllable, that tore out of Ford's vocals and into the darkening sky, were like the sharp edges of broken glass. There wasn’t any restraint in his voice, this time it was seething, and vitriol manifested in the undertones of his acrimonious command. 

 

And then regret burst like a dam inside of Ford the instant he felt Stan go rigid against his back. Also, he was certain that he’d heard a muffled whimper against his shoulder. An exasperated groan worked its way up Ford's throat, and tumbled unceremoniously passed his parted lips.  

 

His glasses reclaimed their rightful place upon his face, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “No that...that wasn’t your fault, Stan. I... I can’t explain it to you now, but I associate that moniker with unpleasant memories I’d rather not disclose at the moment. I assure that those unpleasant memories have nothing to do with you.” Only silence answered Ford, and he worried that perhaps Stan didn’t believe him and he wouldn’t be shocked or even put any blame upon him if he didn’t. Though he was soon proven wrong as Stan let out an annoyed snort. 

 

“T-That woulda b-be-been good ta... kn-know... b-before now...” Stan muttered, seemingly recovering quickly from the unwarranted verbal harshness. “A-Ah well...it a-ain't l-like I h-haven't.... ac-accidentally p-pissed ya off pl-plenty of t-times since...since we....we...” His voice waned and he trailed off, as he became alarmingly still. 

 

To say it unsettled Ford would be an understatement. It didn’t just unsettle Ford, it nearly caused his heart to discharge out of his chest, just like a bullet as it was expelled from its chamber. “S-Stanley?!” He almost didn’t recognize his own voice. It was so apprehensive and perturbed. “Stanley?!”  

 

“W-What?” Stan moaned, shivering ever so slightly now that the twin suns had vanished out of the sky. “O-Oh...wait...” He trailed off as he refocused his attention on their conversation. “M’s-sorry....jus’ g-give me...a...a mo-moment.”  

 

Stan’s chest was heaving again, Ford could feel it pressing against the skin between his shoulder blades. Ford directed his gaze down at the dusty terra firma beneath them, as he waited for Stan to recover his rather peculiar episode, it was as though Stan had forgotten they had been talking. 

 

Ford was uncertain what the take away was with this newly discovered information. There were just too many variables, and now he was more lost than ever before. How could he pinpoint any possible illnesses Stan might have if he had such a vast quantity of symptoms? 

 

Though, had Stan forgotten? Or was Ford just leaping to conclusions? Perhaps Stan had just exhausted himself, and if Stan’s heaving chest wasn’t an indication, that he’d overdone it, then Ford hadn’t any idea what was. 

 

Stan’s breathing tickled his shoulder again as he strained to take in deep enough breaths. His starved lungs just weren’t getting enough oxygen. A bout of coughs escaped him as his body shivered, but this time it wasn’t just one or two shivers. Instead his body continued to shiver, and didn’t seem to show any signs of letting up soon. 

 

“P-Poindexter...w-why are ya..do-doin’ this f-for?” 

 

Well that wasn’t at all what Ford had been expecting, it caught him off guard and bewildered him into a momentary stunned silence. As soon as he found his voice again, he responded with an inquire of his own. “Whatever do you mean by that, Stan?” 

 

“Why a-are ya...d-doin’ all thi-this for?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Why ar-are ya...do-doin’ this for me? M’only sl-slowin' ya down...” Stan’s tone of voice shifted in pitch, it was much more somber and desolate in nature.  

 

“You’re doing nothing of the sort.” Ford replied tersely, a twinge of irritation began to take form by way of a boiling sensation in the pit of his gut, as he deflected Stan’s words with the shake of his head. 

 

“D-Don’t...e-ev-even...P-Poin-Poindexter. W-We both...” Stan paused as he took in a jarring gasp, and coughed violently. His entire body now seized with uncontrollable tremors.

 

“W-We b-both know th-that y-ya...w-woulda f-found s-some place ta...ta...rest b-by now if...if ya didn’t.... have ta worry bout m-m...me....” A loud disgusting gurgle tumbled within Stan’s stomach. And then he began to frantically try and wriggle himself free from the sling Ford created. 

 

“W-Whoa!” Ford yelped out in dismay, swaying dangerously, “S-Stan! Stanley c-calm d-down! Yo-You're going to hurt yourself, and possibly me as well!” He warned sharply, struggling to keep himself from plunging backwards. 

 

“I-I’m g-gon-gonna...” Stan’s arms felt like lead, and it was as though he had chains around his wrists weighted down with a steel ball, but he managed to bring his hands up to his mouth nonetheless.  

 

**“G-Gonna- I....let....me-” Bile was crawling its way up Stan’s throat like an ugly spider. He swallowed the ugly bile spider back down. “D-down...I... gotta...”**

 

Ford lowered himself to the dusty ground, and began to unfasten the knots in his trench coat and in Stan’s jacket.

 

“Stanley Romanoff Pines, I swear if you hurl on me, I’m going to...” He let out an irritated huff, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you! But believe you me when I say that it won’t be pleasant! So, don’t you dare.” He finally undid the last of the knots, and he felt Stan scramble away from him frantically. 

 

Stan only got a few inches away from Ford before he vomited, his hacks erupting so violently it caused strain upon his vocal cords. It was as though his vocal cords were being ravaged apart by multiple blades from various knives.

 

Tears splattered into his puddle of sick and he sobbed between his heaves. Ford stared at the pitiful sight of his brother before him. His entire body refusing his commands to move. He was numb as watched Stan, uncertainty replacing his previous irritation. He desired to look away, yet he couldn’t get his eyes to cooperate with him.  

 

After about a minute of watching, Ford’s body began to move on its own, without him even realizing it. Acting purely on instinct alone, he found himself settled down next to Stan. And his hand was now placed upon his back, soothingly rubbing circles into it.  

 

“Uh...” Ford felt like an ignoramus as he opened his mouth to console Stan, coming to the stark realization he had no idea what to even say. “Uh...there....there?” He cringed at his pathetic attempt, for the love of the stars, why was he so damn awful at giving the comfort Stan obviously required? “L-Let it all out Stan.” 

 

For the next five minutes Stan heaved out whatever was left inside his stomach to dispel. Then he spent another two minutes dry heaving, and then without warning he teetered sideways and collapsed against Ford. 

 

**Ford quickly caught Stan, and allowed him to rest against him. “S-Stanley are you alright?”**

 

“What th-tha hell d'ya t-think?” Stan snapped out, though the snap didn’t have any substance to it, it more or less just sounded like a weak rasp if anything. “Y-Ya lost ya d-damn mind al-already? Damn it F-Ford...I don’t...why? Why are ya even t-toleratin' me? I don’t...I don’t deserve...m’not....I ain’t w-worth it.” 

 

The Self-deprecation and the cynicism that seeped from Stan’s bitter tangent were all too much for Stanford Pines to handle. He was going to be putting a halt to Stan’s tirade this instant, there was no way in hell that he was going to stand for his little brother thinking of himself in such an appalling manner. 

 

“Don’t!” Ford’s command was resolute, yet strangely gentle at the same time. “Don’t say that, Stanley.” 

 

“Why not?!” Stan tore himself away from Ford’s side, stumbling slightly, using his hands to keep himself from falling over onto his back. He turned his body to face his brother, giving him an icy glare, as his teeth clenched together. 

 

His face contorted into a scowl, covered in a thick sheen of sweat, he trembled without restrain. Another session of haggard coughs discharged from his heavy lungs, and tears rolled down his cheeks like a torrential downpour of rain. 

 

“Gi-Gi-Gimme one d-damn go-good r-reason as to w-why I s-shouldn't?!” 

 

A chill rushed through Ford, and it wasn’t because of the freezing around him. He opened his mouth in protest, but his words died in his vocals. His mouth hung open as he gawked like a dimwit at his twin, it was a rather unbecoming expression that had settled itself upon Ford’s face.

 

Stan’s riotous, bitter and disturbing deep bellied laughter echoed into the night air, “Y-Yeah...j-jus...jus’ as I t-thought...y-ya ca-can't even g-gimme on-one reason. C-Cause there ai-ain't one, is there?! I ain’t...worth nothin’ F-Ford, I- I ain’t never done nothin’ worthwhile in my life. An’ what’s worse is w-when you h-handed me that c-chance t-to do that so-somethin' worthwhile on a damn s-silver platter, I fucked it all up an’ go-got you stranded here! Jus’.... jus’ another fuck up in my long damn list o’fuck ups!” His speech was slurring together, and he was struggling to intake air, letting out hitched sobs and hiccups as he continued to verbally berate himself. 

 

All for Stanford to bear witness to.

 

“I-I got y-ya tra-trapped here Ford. An’ who kn-knows if we can ever g-get back ho-home. I....I ruined everythin’ again!” Stan’s gaze had fallen away from Ford’s face. His head was bowed downwards at the dusty ground, his expression hidden as his long burgundy bangs covered his face.

 

“I-I got ya into t-this an’... I w-won't b-be able ta g-get ya out, Poindexter. Y-Ya shoulda le-left me b-behind so...so ya didn’t have t-ta put up with me. W-Why d-didn't y-ya leave me b-behind wh-when ya had th-the chance? Y-Ya done it o-once b-before, right? S-So it ai-ain't like it is d-difficult!” 

 

A storm raged within Ford as turmoil crashed down upon him, like the waves of a sea in turmoil. Guilt punctured his soul mercilessly, and it plunged with a piercing blade- swift and true into its very core. He felt as though his soul was going to be torn apart.

 

He inhaled shakily, and timidly he reached out with his hands and tenderly cupped Stan’s cheeks. He meticulously wiped away every tear that cascaded down Stan’s face, not missing a single one. “Have you so quickly forgotten Stanley? Wherever we go, we go together.” 

 

“Funny...” Stan laughed coldly, yet he didn’t make a move to pull away from his brother, “I don’t r-recall ya co-comin' with me, when dad tossed me out in the streets ta basically die!” 

 

Ford’s guilt only expanded with Stan’s words, and it hurt like hell. Because it was the truth, Ford hadn't gone with Stan. Now he wished that he had done so, he wished so desperately he had, but he hadn’t. And, it wasn’t like there was some kind of wish that could be made, that would magically fix their falling out paradox free. The past was the past, and it couldn’t be altered, the Universe always found a way to iron out any attempts made to change its course. 

 

“Stanley please, just...” Ford trailed off, he felt so lost and so out of his element. He was ill equipped to handle situations such as this. He always seemed to say the wrong things and ruin everything.

 

He was a failure when it came to having a heart to heart with anyone. It wasn’t a wonder why he’d ended up all alone, and he wouldn’t be shocked if this was another reason as to why Fiddleford had abandoned him as well.

 

He’d been a terrible friend to Fiddleford, just as he had been a terrible brother to Stan. He had left him all alone for ten years, and even though Stan had only given him a glimpse into his hardships, Ford didn’t doubt that Stan’s life had been full of heartache and sorrow. 

 

“I promised you I wouldn’t leave you alone, I intend to keep that promise.” 

 

Stanley snapped his gaze upwards at Ford, looking bewildered, his expression identical to that of a startled animal. Another laugh left him, but this time it was a laugh of pain and agony, ”L-Like h-hell ya e-ever did that,” he shook his head and breathed in harshly and exhaled painfully, “jus’ jus’ stop it Ford. Y-Ya ain’t g-gotta l-lie t-ta me just c-cause ya feel g-guilty." 

 

“Stanley I’m tellling you the truth!” Ford informed, no hint of deceit within his voice. “Stanley you... you had me promise back in the woods. You begged for me not to leave you, and I promised that I wouldn’t....” He paused, wondering why the hell Stan would accuse him of lying...unless-? 

 

“I... did?” Stan muttered out numbly, confirming that he didn’t remember what happened back in the woods, that he didn’t remember begging for Ford not to leave him all alone. That he had no idea that Ford promised that he wouldn’t do so. 

 

No wonder Stanley was overwhelmed with emotional pandemonium. 

 

Ford nodded in confirmation, “And I promised I wouldn’t leave you, and I don’t plan on breaking that promise. Are you... are you honestly telling me you don’t recall?” Even though Stan had already confirmed Ford’s suspicions that he didn’t remember, he still felt the urgent need to hear Stan verbally corroborate the fact. 

 

“No I.... I don’t.” Stan’s voice sounded numb and hollow as gazed down at the palm of his hands. “F-Ford?” 

 

“Yes Stanley?” 

 

“M’cold.” The floodgates opened once more as Stan sobbed heavily, and then he let himself collapse forward. 

 

Ford caught Stanley in a protective embrace, and pulled him close. “It’s alright, it’s alright...I’ve got you.” He rested his forehead against Stan’s and rubbed soothing circles into his brother’s back.  

 

“M’s-sorry!” Stanley sobbed heavily, agony radiating throughout his entire body. “I didn’t m-mean it...an-any of it! I..I didn’t m-mean it Sta-Stanford...y-your pr-project... g-gettin' us s-stranded h-here I...I-”  

 

“Shhhh...” Ford hushed him, continuing to rub Stan’s back, “That’s all in the past, Stanley. It... it doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we’re both alive, and we’re here together. I... I know I haven’t been the brother you need Stanley, but I’m trying, I swear to you that I’m trying.” 

 

Stanley’s response to his words was not what he was hoping it would be. His emotionally compromised twin answered his words in the form of exhausted weeps and whimpers. 

 

“And I know this won’t sound sincere to you, but Stanley I swear I am relieved that I didn’t end up here all on my lonesome. I’d rate my chances of survival extremely low if you weren’t by my side. I don’t know how long I would have been able to endure this without you." Ford paused to take in a deep breath, and then he continued.

 

"There’s.... so much distance between us, and there’s no doubt that we’ve a long way to go when it comes to making things right to each other.” Ford finished, as his frazzled thoughts came to a standstill. There were no words left for him to say, there didn’t seem to be anything else he could do to soothe Stan’s misery. For once in Ford’s life he was at an utter loss, and he couldn’t find another angle in which he could use to look at their plight in a different light. 

 

Stan looked even paler than before, and his overall appearance had become horribly disheveled. Unfortunately he appeared to still heading down the path that would lead him into the open arms of the Grim Reaper. He lay limply against his twin, his breathing the harshest it’s ever been thus far. 

 

“F-Ford?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“W-What if I-...I forget the-the promise again?” 

 

“I’ll remind you, Stanley. I’ll remind you as many times as it takes, for you to never forget it.” 

 

Stan curled up in Ford’s protective hold. And for the first time in a decade, he finally felt safe. He didn’t feel as if he had to be prepared for anything that could bring him harm. He didn’t feel the urgency that he had to sleep with a baseball bat at the ready. He felt safe and secure, and even though he’d never fully admit it. 

 

The only place he’d ever felt safe was at his twin’s side, whenever he was with Ford, he felt untouchable. As though he could do anything and emerge unscathed. And despite the fact that his body felt like it was on fire, he had never been more at peace. A calmness claimed him and guided him into blissful unconsciousness. The last thing he was aware of before he faded into darkness was Ford placing him back into the sling.

 

Ford knew his twin didn’t have much time left, and if he was going to save Stan’s life, the only way it would occur was through a miracle.

 

And what were the odds of that happening...? 

 

A flickering movement caught his attention, and in the distance, he noticed some figures heading in their direction. He tensed up and reached into his pocket, and placed his hand against his pocket knife, so he could be ready to use it if need be.

 

It didn’t take long for the figures to arrive, and when they did Ford was... 

 

Strangely calm. As they had neared him, all his apprehension had been spirited away as though by some invisible mystic source. The creatures before him were rather petite beings, pure white, with blue eyes, and with what appeared to be some feathery wings growing out of their backs. In all honesty they reminded him of the imps he’d find in the forest back in Gravity Falls. Though the imps of Gravity Falls had a more mischievous aura to them and they didn’t look as though they were made of the galaxy.  

 

Yet these imps did, and when he meant they were white in color, he meant it as in they radiated an ethereal white glow. Their bodies didn’t appear to be solid, just constructed of light. The only solid thing about their body appeared to be their wings. And then one of the glowing imps took a step forward, the only one with a transparent ring around their head, that looked like an angel’s halo.

 

The light imp bowed before him, before gazing up into his eyes. Ford became enchanted by their pure blue eyes, and gazed intensely into them.

 

And then a voice echoed within his cranium, a voice that wasn’t his own. It was a beautiful and angelic sounding voice, unlike anything he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing before. It almost sounded as though the voice was singing a lulling lullaby to him. 

 

‘You...are....human? Curious, humans don’t often find their way into our humble realm.’ 

 

“W-Who are you?” Ford inquired, completely taken off guard by this imp. 

 

‘I am Gwyndalo and these are my people.’ The imp before him gestured their arms of light towards the group behind them. ‘Our race is known as the Sunosutaorora, and we do not intend you any harm.’ 

 

Ford stared into Gwyndalo’s eyes. And what he saw within them was something he would describe as a utopia, the place he saw was beautiful, lush and vivid. Fields of pure green, flowers that were foreign to him were growing wildly all around, there were crystal clear rivers, lakes, ponds, and oceans and they all seemed to hold their own little pocket galaxy inside. 

 

He could see stars in them, moons, suns, other various planets, galaxy dust. They all shimmered with a spectacular glow and the very sight of the water sent a joy unlike anything he had ever experienced through him. He felt a warmth unlike any other overtake him, but it was a comfortable and pleasing warmth.  

 

The scenery flickered away from the water and showed mountains next, capped off with pure white snow, they were the most majestic mountains Ford had ever seen with his own two eyes, and suddenly the mountains back in their dimensions paled on comparison. Multiple other landscapes all more beautiful, unique and breathtaking than the last was shown to him. Then came the creatures of all sizes, some large and scaly, some small and fluffy, some weird and creepy, and some funny and ridiculous looking. Yet all of them intrigued Ford and captured his full interest and he made a mental image of everything he was observing. 

 

Then finally it all faded away much to Ford’s dismay, and Gwyndalo’s eyes were no longer portals to the utopia. They were just pure icy blue orbs and if Gwyndalo had a mouth, Ford assumed they’d be smiling with benevolence. 

 

‘Welcome to our home.’ 

 

Ford blinked and all of a sudden, the landscape around him had morphed into the very imagery he’d seen within Gwyndalo’s eyes. No longer were he and his twin in an empty barren wasteland. Instead they were in the utopia. And the twin moons were gone, replaced with the twin suns, it was shimmering and splendorous daylight again. 

 

The landscape was changing right before his eyes. The dust peeled away to reveal dark green grass, streams and pools of water began bubbling up all across the field, the flowers he’d seen began to sprout out of the ground and pop up. Bright, vivid, alive and swaying with a calming breeze. 

 

Mountains began to push their way out of the ground in the horizon, and flora and fauna of all sorts began to fade into their respective habitats. And even though many of those habitats were in the distance, Ford could see it all so crystal clear, it was as though his vision had been enhanced beyond what a normal human being should be able to perceive.   

 

“F-Ford?” 

 

Stan’s sickly voice reached him through the amazement of it all, and he glanced down at Stan resting against his shoulder. 

 

“Stanley?” 

 

Stan’s eylids fluttered open ever so slightly, and his dulling brown eyes locked with Ford’s gaze. The shimmer of life within them was on the verge of fading out for eternity. “C-Can I...l-let...g-go...h-here...? It’s so...p-peaceful here...and m’so t-tired Ford....so....t-tired...” His eyelids slowly began to close, "m'so...t-tired..."

 

The warmth in Ford’s body was chased away and replaced with numb coldness. “Stanley...n-no you can’t. You have to stay with me, alright? You can’t leave me! You have to hold on, please.” He once again knelt down, and released Stanley from the sling, and gathered him up into his arms.

 

"I du-dunno i-if I...if I...c-can...F-Ford..." Stan's voice was so frail and so feeble, he had spoken his words between his agonized, shallow and labored breaths. Breathing, a task normally so easily done, was so difficult for Stan. He didn't know if he had anything left to give, and his eyelids finally closed. And, as he faded back into the darkness, he was certain he wouldn't wake again.

So he began to surrender to death's embrace...

 

“No, please! Please stay here with me, Stanley!” Ford commanded, though it wasn’t so much as a command, as it was a desperate plea. His voice wasn’t strong or convicted, it was terrified and distressed. "Please! Please...! Stanley! Stanley! Please, Ley!"

 

A hand now rested against Ford's left shoulder, and his watery gaze locked once more with Gwyndalo’s icy blue orbs. ‘Your brother is unwell, and he hasn’t much time left. Follow,’ they beckoned Ford with their hand, ‘I shall lead you to the healer. They will soothe what plagues him, this process will take some time, but it may just save him.’ 

 

Ford had no other options left, Stanley was on the verge of death in his arms, and without medical care he was dead man. He had no choice but to place whatever trust he had left inside of him, which was only a smoldering ember that struggled to hold on, into the healer. He wasn't certain how Gwyndalo knew that Stan was his brother, though he assumed it was due to his and Stan's likeness.

 

Trusting anyone wasn’t something Stanford Pines did. Not after all the betrayal in his life he had to endure. Yet he would put his trust in these creatures.... 

 

For Stanley’s sake. 

 

Ford rose to his feet, Stanley lying as still as death in his arms, and if it wasn’t for the faint rise and fall of his chest, Ford would believe him deceased.

 

"Hold on for me, Ley. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. You can do it...please.... I need you, Ley.” Stray tears trickled down Ford's cheeks and splattered against Stan’s deathly pale face, as he followed Gwyndalo to the healer, whoever they might be.  

 

 

Here was the miracle Ford had prayed for. 

 

 

 

He just hoped that it hadn’t come too late....

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -  
> Oops, I did some more Stangst! Time to get yelled at collectively by the fandom once again for my unforgivable sins! I am prepared for you all!
> 
>  
> 
> {{Welcome Gwyndalo and their people!}}
> 
> Stan has finally allowed some of his sorrows out into the open. How will Ford cope with knowing these sorrows? Will this be the start of healing for the both of them?
> 
> Will Stan pull through so the reconciliation process can come to pass?
> 
> Or---
> 
> Is it too little too late for Stan? 
> 
> Only time will tell well....that and the next chapter! Which probably won't come out for a while. I might take a break after this chapter and go back to working on my other stories that need to be updated we'll see~
> 
> YES I'M LEAVING YOU ON A CLIFFHANGER! DEAL WITH IT~
> 
>  
> 
> See you when I make the next chapter folks!
> 
> Remember! Reality's an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold! Byeeee!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Uliw qfhg tlg Hgzm yzxp.  
> Sv xzm'g olhv srn ztzrm.


	4. It's spreading like a wild flame. So dig your dirt, and make your grave.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -
> 
> Stangst? 
> 
> I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing sad about this chapter at all!
> 
> No, no really guys. Everything is fine. Just ignore the chapter title above and the note below, they are lying to you. Nothing sad or depressing happens in this chapter what so ever.
> 
> This is the chapter where everything is fine.
> 
> All of it's fine.
> 
> This is fine. 
> 
>  
> 
> I can assure you this chapter won't give you feels. I repeat it won't give you feels.
> 
> -  
> -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> _
> 
> I know, I know. I said that I was going to hold onto the next chapter for a while. But... I couldn't stop thinking about this chapter and it demanded that it be made! So, I wrote it up! So uh yeah....
> 
> HAVE A FANFIC THAT'S ALWAYS SCREAMING STANGST!
> 
> Title of this chapter is some lyrics taken from the song: Angry Sea, by Mother Mother!
> 
> _  
> _

* * *

* * *

 Stanford’s fingers were intertwined with Stan’s ghostly white fingers. They were settled down in a cave of sorts, but the cave was decorated with gems, flowers, and other such materials.

 

An ethereal glow illuminated the cave, Ford was unable to pinpoint the origin of the glow, however. There were also objects that resembled couches, cabinets, and other such accommodations.

 

Yet they were all constructed out of plant life, rocks, wood and other materials. It looked homely despite being a cave. This cave Ford had followed Gwyndalo to had been concealed behind a waterfall, yet even though the rush of water was falling rapidly down into the river below it, the falls made only a hushed murmur. 

   
Unlike most waterfalls back in their dimension...

 

Stan’s upper body was resting upon Ford’s lap, that left his lower back and his legs outstretched, upon a large thick leaf, with flowers and feathers adorning the top of it. For the comfort of whomever found themselves in the healer’s cave.

 

Gwyndalo had vanished deeper into the cave, in order to commune with the healer. Leaving Ford and Stan all alone for the time being, the only noises traversing through the air were Stan’s faint breaths.

 

Ford stared down at his brother, who was so frightfully still, and only the rise and fall of his chest reminded Ford that Stan was still clinging to his last threads of life. Ford busied his other hand by brushing it lightly through Stan’s unkempt mullet.  

 

“Do you… do you recall when we were both struck with pneumonia? It was during the winter, on the same year that we discovered the Stan O’ War. Usually I was the one to fall into the throes of illness first, yet fate had other plans. You fell ill before I did, it was the most ill that you’d ever been in our entire lives. You were unable to do much except rest. I assisted in caring for you, along with Ma… and Ma told me I couldn’t stop fretting over you. One morning you took a turn for the worst, and had to be hospitalized, and I know you have no memory of this. But the doctors almost lost you, your heart stopped beating for approximately three minutes.” Ford’s words softly reverberated through the cave and faded away.

 

He waited silently, letting his gaze wander to Stan’s chest, checking to make certain he was still among the realm of the living. Fortunately, Stan’s chest still rose and fell, miraculously Stan’s condition hadn’t declined since they’d arrived in the healer’s cave. 

 

Perhaps the healer’s cave itself had a mystical potency that either halted the advancement of one’s illness or slowed it down. Whatever the case might be, Ford was relieved that Stanley was still breathing. 

 

“I never left your side after that, Ma said I ended up becoming sick due to my worry over you. We stayed in the hospital for nearly two weeks. You were far worse off than I was, I can only remember the memories, and not what I was feeling. Though, I have my suspicions that what I’m feeling now is what I felt back then.” Ford closed his eyes, and steadied his breathing, calming his frayed nerves 

 

He softly squeezed Stan’s hand, and his heart sank when Stan didn’t respond in turn. “P-Point is... I can’t lose you, Ley. So... whatever’s kept you alive for the last decade you need to hold onto it and not let go. Be it your headstrong stubbornness, or just sheer spite, whatever it is just...just utilize it and come back to me.” 

 

‘Stanford, I have brought our healer.’ Gwyndalo’s voice echoed within his mind, his eyes snapped open and he turned his head in their direction.

 

Behind Gwyndalo towered a creature that radiated soothing aura that covered every last inch of the cave itself. Ford stared at the creature, letting its image be burned into cranium. He wouldn’t desire to forget about the creature that was going to be presiding over his brother.  

 

Ford would be indebted to this creature for the rest of his days if it was able to beckon his brother back into the vitality of life. If this creature could rescue his brother from the Grim Reaper, then Ford would undoubtedly never be able to express enough of his eternal gratitude towards it. 

 

Ford’s jaw went slack as he gazed at the creature, his heart rapidly increased in speed, fluttering in sheer wonder and awe. Before him was none other than a creature that was from myths and legends. He’d never seen one in person, though he’d always believed in their existence, even if he hadn’t ever found any signs of one back in Gravity Falls.

 

Looming behind the light imp Gwyndalo.... 

**Was a Phoenix.**

 

“S-Sweet con-constellations.” A breathless proclamation tumbled pass Ford’s parted lips, as he gazed at the Phoenix in all its majesty and beauty.

 

It was made of pure fire, its entire body was fire, none of it was solid. It was also rather transparent as though it were an ancient spirit, and Ford felt as if he’d been blessed with a divine gift to be able to behold such a splendor.

 

The Phoenix wasn’t just hued with reds, yellows, and oranges, but a mix of colors, all flickering and shimmering, dancing to their own rhythm.

 

There were white embers, icy blue embers, lavender embers, rosy pink embers, and so much more that Ford was unable to identify in his stunned stupor. 

 

There were so many accounts of these mythical wonders, so many tales, in where the description of the magnificent creatures varied.

 

Yet there was a common connection between every tale, and that was their extraordinary ability to heal. Ford’s gaze was captured by the circlets of white upon what he assumed were the Phoenix's face. 

 

‘Salutations young fledgling, I am Sapphira.’ The Phoenix's voice hummed through Ford’s mind like a melodious serenade. The sound of Sapphira’s voice was alluring, if he had to define the sound of Sapphira’s voice he’d define it as entrancing.

 

A tranquility washed over Ford, and for a moment he felt like a child again, full of innocence that had yet to be tainted by the demons that now haunted him wherever he roamed. 

 

 It was as though his demons had been banished to a distant nexus in which they’d never be liberated from. He could have sworn he was back home, back on Glass Shard beach.

 

He could almost see himself and Stanley fooling around atop the Stan O’ War, without a care in the world. He was so enthralled at the sight of Sapphira that the cadence in Stan’s breathing was nearly lost to him.

 

Ford’s gaze shifted away from Sapphira, and landed on his brother, and to his surprise yet utter delight, wasn’t as pale as before. Ford knew he wasn’t imagining it; Stan’s skin had flushed back into a faint tan. His breathing seemed more at ease now, as if just Sapphira being present was improving his brother’s overall state of wellness. 

 

‘Gwyndalo has summoned me, so that I may guide your brother’s spirit back to its temple.’ Sapphira seemed to glide as she moved. Her direction was not to go around Gwyndalo, but to phase right through the light imp.

 

Ford suspected that this was possible due to both creatures being composed of light. Sapphira’s white eyes shifted into an icy blue, and as this occurred, plants of unknown species began to float out from their storage, and an aura of blue surrounded them. Then a ceramic bowl levitated over and hovered before Sapphira. The Pheonix began adding plants into the bowl, none of them familiar to Ford.  

 

Sapphira then tilted her fiery head, and a golden ember fell into the bowl, burning up the plants inside of it, leaving behind a golden liquid.

 

The bowl glided through the air, and came to a stop besides Ford. ‘Your brother must drink the golden liquid, every last drop of it.’ Sapphira informed as she turned away to face Gwyndalo.  

 

 

 **_‘_ ** **_Xlnv_ ** **** **_Kirmxvhh_ ** **_, R_ ** **_szev_ ** **_z_ ** **_nzggvi_ ** **** **_lu_ ** **** **_fgnlhg_ ** **** **_rnkligzmxv_ ** **_R_ ** **_nfhg_ ** **** **_rnkzig_ ** **** **_fklm_ ** **** **_blf_ ** **_,_ ** **_rg_ ** **_rh z_ ** **_hvmhrgrev_ ** **** **_hfyqvxg_ ** **_. R_ ** **_szev_ ** **** **_hvmhvw_ ** **** **_gsv_ ** **** **_zfiz_ ** **** **_zilfmw_ ** **** **_gsv_ ** **** **_hrxp_ ** **** **_lmv_ ** **_. R_ ** **_uvzi_ ** **** **_gszg_ ** **** **_gsv_ ** **** **_roomvhh_ ** **** **_sv_ ** **_rh_ ** **_koztfvw_ ** **** **_drgs_ ** **** **_hszoo_ ** **** **_mlg_ ** **** **_vzhrob_ ** **** **_yv_ ** **** **_ivnvwrvw_ ** **** **_uli_ ** **** **_rg’h_ ** **** **_zm_ ** **** **_roomvhh_ ** **** **_gszg_ ** **_rh_ ** **_yvblmw_ ** **** **_lfi_ ** **** **_Fmrevihv_ ** **_._ ** **_Gslfts_ ** **** **_kviszkh_ ** **** **_rg_ ** **** **_xzm_ ** **** **_yv_ ** **** **_nzmztvw_ ** **_,_ ** **_yfg_ ** **_R_ ** **_urihg_ ** **** **_nfhg_ ** **** **_xsvxp_ ** **** **_gsv_ ** **** **_ezhg_ ** **** **_kllo_ ** **** **_lu_ ** **** **_drhwln_ ** **** **_gl_ ** **** **_urmw_ ** **** **_gsv_ ** **** **_zmhdvi_ ** **_R_ ** **_hvvp_ ** **_. R_ ** **_ivjfriv_ ** **** **_blfi_ ** **** **_zhhrhgzmxv_ ** **_.’_ **  

 

 

Ford took the bowl, as he listened to Sapphira’s change in dialect. It must be the native tongue of their realm, for he wasn’t able to understand a single word that Sapphira had spoken to Gwyndalo. He watched the imp and Phoenix swiftly retreat into the darker part of the cave, and then he turned his attention back to the task at hand. 

 

He placed the bowl beside him and then placed a hand on Stan’s cheek and patted him softly, trying to rouse him from his abysmal dormancy so he could drink up the liquid.

 

“Stanley...” He spoke, keeping his tone firm yet hushed, not wishing to cause his brother anymore distress by sounding harsh, even though it wasn’t intended Ford knew that it would cause anguish to his twin.  

 

Ford had effortlessly picked up on the verity that Stan didn’t react well to hearing any type of edge in his voice.

 

Judging by how Stan flinched when Ford’s voice was too firm in the woods, and when Ford demanded that he didn’t use the nickname Sixer, it was a safe assumption that he’d have to attempt to control the tone of his voice from here on out. 

 

His efforts yielded no pay off, Stan did not wake up. Though that wouldn’t be an issue, Ford knew how to aid an unconscious person when they needed to take something by mouth. He carefully propped Stan’s head up, held the bowl in one hand and tipped it gradually against Stan’s lips.  

  
Allowing the liquid drip slowly into Stan’s mouth, and after about ten drips, he placed the bowl back on the ground. He tipped Stan’s head back ever so slightly and then messaged his throat to trigger his muscles to swallow down the golden medicine. Ford repeated those actions until the bowl was void of the gold liquid. 

 

Ford waited, keeping vigil over his brother, trying to detect even the slightest change. The first fifteen minutes of observing didn’t produce any results. Ford’s nerves all let off a twinge, wondering if perhaps all of this had been for naught and that Stan couldn’t be saved.

 

He wasn’t certain if he was letting paranoia prey upon his mind or what it was, but Ford couldn’t help but believe that Stanley had relapsed, and that he was back where he started.

 

On the very threshold of death, and that alone was far too much for Ford to handle. His throat Inexplicably became tight and he shuddered, it was as if a rope was being tightened around his neck.

 

His fears were bubbling to the surface now, as his brown eyes welled with tears. His eyelids scrunched shut, his frame shivering slightly, as he cradled Stan against him. 

 

The only thought that plagued Ford’s mind was the heart wrenching fear that help had arrived far too late for Stanley.

 

He tightened his embrace upon Stan, and buried his face into the top of his unruly mullet. Time seemed to march by agonizingly slow, Ford’s trembling increased as his body was overtaken by silent sobs.

 

 At this point he wasn’t even aware if Stanley was dead or alive, he couldn’t bear the very idea of checking upon Stan’s vitals only to find that they’d ceased to function.

 

He felt like he was suffocating, as the tightness upon his neck gained in traction. His hold on Stan’s limp figure tightened. Ford was drowning in a vast ocean of regrets, and he was sinking rapidly into the dark abyss of raw and overwhelming grief.

 

   
“Come back...c-come back, L-Ley.” He pleaded desperately, his voice tainted with excruciating agony and dejected remorse.

 

“P-Please... please come back to me! I c-can't.... I can’t d-do this wi-without y-you! I n-ne-need you! H-Ho-How c-can I g-go on I-if you’re g-gone? What’s the p-point in l-living on I-if yo-you're not with me!?” His silent sobs burst forth into intense and vociferous wails of dismay.

 

His tears soaked into Stan’s mullet, he begged distraughtly for his brother to return to him. For Stan to do something, anything at all to ease Ford’s hysterical turmoil.

 

He yearned for Stan to verify he was still here, and that he hadn’t left him all alone. If Stan was deceased, then Ford was forsaken to the harsh reality that he had naught a reason to prolong his own life. 

 

“D-Damn it, Ley! C-Come b-back yo-you...you...i-idiot! Y-You c-ca-… you can’t leave me! Not ag-again! You can’t j-just leave m-me, not when I just got you back! Damn it, Ley! Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” Ford begged over and over, as words left unspoken screamed relentlessly in the darkest reaches of his subconscious.  

 

_'I LOVE YOU, LEY! I LOVE YOU! I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY! I'M SORRY! PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I NEVER HATED YOU! I LOVE YOU... I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, LITTLE BROTHER. I LOVE YOU...I LOVE YOU...I LOVE YOU...!'_

 

The unspoken words became an intense pandemonium, booming as loud as a violent thunderstorm within him.

 

Ultimately despite his valiant struggles, he failed to silence the words.

 

They refused to be denied, and his thoughts fell into discordant harmony as he lamented for his beloved little brother.

 

**Ley was gone....**

 

His little brother and his only friend in the entire galaxy and beyond even that, was gone and it was his fault. All of it was his fault, if only Ford hadn't let their father toss Stan into an unforgiving life on the streets. 

 

Then perhaps Stan’s immune system would have been more well equipped to fend off whatever illness that had overwhelmed him.

 

Living on the streets must have compromised Stan’s immune system, and ravaged it without mercy. There wasn’t any other explanation about why Stanley had declined so rapidly within a few short hours. 

 

**Ley was gone, and it was too late to make amends with him.**

 

 

Too late to fix what was broken between them, it was too late to atone. Too late for Ford to be a better older brother, he had been a terrible brother, and Stan deserved a better brother than him.

 

If only he had worked on being the older brother Stanley deserved. If only he had reached out earlier to Stan, if only he’d realized how much he had missed Stanley. He had missed him so much, so very much, more than he ever thought possible.

 

And now Stanley would never know that Ford still loved him, no, not loved- that's past tense. Ford had never stopped loving Stan, and even now he STILL LOVES, his little brother with all his heart.

 

He loves him with all his heart's fractured and shattered broken pieces, and it hurt. Oh, hell did it hurt so fucking much. He’d never endured this much pain, not once, not even when he suffered torment at the hands of Bill Cipher. Nothing Bill could ever conceive of doing upon him would ever match the soul crushing, heart-rending and wretched sorrow that coursed through him. It was ruthless and unforgiving, and it tore into his emotions, leaving them frayed and in ruins. 

 

There wasn't anything else that would ever cause Stanford Pines such torment, nothing would ever come close to destroying him as much as knowing that his baby brother was gone, and he was all alone.

 

 

**Ley was gone...he was gone.... he was gone...he was..---**

 

 

“W-What y-ya c-cryin' f-for, P-Poindexter?” 

 

**ALIVE?!**

 

Ford’s wails came to an abrupt halt as his breathing hitched in his lungs, they constricted with a piercing ache, and he let out a shocked gasp in utter disbelief. He jerked his head upwards sharply, and stared down to see--- 

 

Stanley’s brown eyes gazing up at him, and he was regarding him not with confusion, but with smugness. It was obvious that Stan knew exactly why Ford had been lamenting. An exhausted, feeble, and crooked smile was stretched across his face. There was no doubt that he'd been pleased to hear Ford’s emotional out-pour on just how much he needed him. 

 

 

**Oh, for fuck’s sake!**

 

 

“S-Stan-Stanley yo-you-” Ford stuttered, his face flushing a deep dark red, as he drew in a large gulp of oxygen, and then released it in a tirade of choice words, “YO-YOU FUC-FUCKING K-KNUCKLEHEAD! YOU ABSOLUTE IGNORAMUS!” He cried out in unbridled lividness, yet even still, the fury couldn’t conceal the sheer relief and joy that caused tears of elation to stream down Ford's face- and for his body to tremble with mirth.

 

"STOP SMILING YOU MORON! YOU ALMOST, YOU COULD'VE-!" Ford's tangent was halted by the rough and deep bellied laughter of his twin.

 

Ford had feared that he'd never hear Stan's laughter ever again, and that's what broke him out of his exasperation and finally he embraced his twin, bestowing upon him a nearly bone shattering hug. Allowing his inner rejoicing to now be displayed outwardly.

 

“Stanley! STANLEY!” Ford’s euphoric sobs and laughter echoed through the cave as they escaped his vocal cords. “Y-You’re alive! Oh, y-you're...you’re alive!” Stan was actually alive... oh thank the constellations above. Ley wasn't dead, he was here and he was alive, and Ford didn't know if he'd ever be able to release his hold on his little brother ever again.

 

Nope, he decided that they'd be stuck like this for the rest of their natural lives. Anything and everything else be damned, at this moment in time Stan was Ford's top priority. Though, deep down Ford was aware that they couldn't very well stay like this for all eternity, he'd eventually have to release his embrace from around his little brother. But he had no intentions of doing so just yet, he was just so overwhelmed with relief, Stan was here in his arms, breathing and alive! All the bitterness between them seemed so ridiculous now, so utterly preposterous.

 

Life was far too fleeting for them to linger on past grievances, and although they had a decade's long road to go to amend their mistakes, well Ford supposed that this was the ideal moment to begin down that road.

 

After all, they only had each other now, and it was just like before, like when they were children. Stanley and Stanford Pines... against the entire Universe.

 

As different as they were, they were the perfect team. Stanley was alive... he was alive and right here. And Ford hadn't been left all alone to pick up the broken pieces of his soul.

 

**Ley was alive.**

The euphoria and relief of Stanley not being stone cold dead, reached its highest point, and then came the inevitable scolding, of Ford reprimanding Stan- for making him so sick with worry like that.

 

"I was so worried about you, Stanley! I thought that---"

 

“F-For-Foorddd--” Stan croaked out, though Ford didn’t appear to hear him.

 

“D-Don’t you EVER FUCKING do that again! EVER! You almost gave me a heart attack, you Knucklehead! You just obliterated thirty years off of my lifespan, and I have half the mind to never let you out of my sights again, and---” 

 

“F-Fo-Foorrd!” 

 

“Please don’t you ever do anything like this ever again, Stanley! I thought you were... I thought that I’d---” 

 

“F-Ford...c-choking! **NOT! B-BREATHING!** ” Stan choked out breathlessly, feeling his lungs protest in way of throbs, he could hardly breathe because Ford seemed intent on crushing his rib-cage. 

 

“OH! S-SORRY!” Ford immediately loosened his embrace, yet he didn’t release his hold on his little brother. He could hear Stan breathe out in a relieved sigh, and then take in gulps of much needed air. 

 

Once Stan had recovered from the near bone breaking hug, he let out a low chuckle and rested his head against Ford’s shoulder. His eyelids nearly fluttering closed, he gazed up at Ford, who was giving him a quivering smile.

 

Stan blinked as tears splattered against his face, and he reached up with a shaking hand, and wiped away the stray tears trailing down Ford's cheeks. “What ya cryin’ for P-Poindexter?” Stan repeated, his voice not even audible enough to be classified as a whisper.

 

This was a question Ford often heard Stan ask of him back in their youth. Over time it had become a ritual between them. Stan would ask of him what he was crying for. This in turn would prompt Ford to either confess what was causing him such distress, or he would deny it and joke it off with Stanley. It never failed to soothe his sorrows.

 

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you are talking about, Stanley! I wasn't lamenting, you must be imagining things, I was completely calm and composed!” Ford scoffed, while letting out an unsteady and shaky laugh just after it, He rested his forehead against the top of Stan’s head.

 

“Liar.” Stan huffed out in an amused manner as he cuddled up against his older brother, who was technically only older than him by fifteen minutes.

 

“Ya were cryin’.... cryin’ like a lost puppy...an’ over me. You’re still such a damn sap, Poindexter, what t’hell m’I supposed to do with this? M’not used to ya getting' so sentimental over me, ticked off to the point ya wanna deck me in t’face? Yes! Sentimental? No.” His eyes slipped closed, and he mumbled something unintelligible into the fabric of Ford’s shirt. 

 

Ford rolled his eyes and let out a low sigh as he listened to Stan speak, to think he was so damn close to never hearing Stan’s voice ever again. He was certain that this traumatic experience would no doubt haunt his mindscape with night terrors for months to come, or perhaps even years. 

 

But he didn’t dwell on those imagining for long. He instead grounded himself to the present, he was going to focus on the here and now; and be grateful that Stan was alive- and they’d both been granted another chance to be brothers again. “So... uh how much of that did you...hear?” 

 

“All o’ it.” Stan admitted, with a cocky grin, as he opened up one eye slightly to gauge Ford’s reaction to his words, never knowing when his words would cause annoyance to his twin. So, he decided to hastily add onto it, not wanting to be chastised as though he had purposefully allowed Ford to believe him deceased.

 

Truth be told, he had been fading in and out of awareness as Ford grieved prematurely over him. Stan had fought an arduous battle and it took all his stubbornness to shatter through the darkness that tried to keep pulling him back under. “Though uh...I was kinda zonin’ in an’ out of it. M’sorry that I got ya worked up...” 

 

“It’s... it’s quite alright Stanley, I understand.” Ford assured as the last of his lingering sorrows ebbed away and became replaced with tranquility.

  
  
"Heh...y-ya care 'bout me..." Stan muttered, before falling into a thoughtful silence.

 

  
"Of course I do, you Knucklehead." Ford pressed his hand gently against the top of Stan's head, and ruffled his mullet, which earned him mock irritation from Stan as he grumbled, gently slapping his hand away.

 

  
The two of them began to slip into a serene state of being. They didn’t speak for quite some time, though they both took comfort in knowing that they were both here, and they were both alive, and they weren't alone.

 

‘Stanford Pines and Stanley Pines.’ Sapphira’s voice was back, and Ford turned his head towards the direction her voice originated from. Sapphira and Gwyndalo appeared out of the darkness, Ford couldn't help himself as he gave them a sincere, but bashful grin.

 

“Ah...S-Sapphira and Gwyndalo I cannot express how grateful I am for your---” Ford began but was silenced by Sapphira hushing him firmly. 

 

‘There shall be plenty of time to express your gratitude Stanford, however we have a more pressing matter at hand. I ask of you to brace yourselves, for this conversation might be a difficult one to have, especially for Stanley.’ 

 

Stan blinked and gazed upon Sapphira and Gwyndalo, well he was at a complete and utter loss about what was going on. “Uh... Poindexter? Who’re these weirdos?” 

 

“S-Stanley!” Ford scolded sharply, but paused as he heard laughter from Sapphira and Gwyndalo both ringing through his mind. 

 

‘It’s quite alright, Stanford, you do not have to jump to our defense. We are rather peculiar, especially to humans such as yourselves.’ Gwyndalo chuckled and shook their head composed of light. 

 

‘Now to answer your question, Stanley Pines. My name is Sapphira, I am a Phoenix and the healer of this kingdom. The imp beside me is Princess Gwyndalo, her and I grew up as hatchlings together and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Now, back to the topic we must discuss...’ Sapphira paused wondering how to phrase her next words, how was she ever going to inform them of Stan’s condition delicately.

 

After a few moments of silence, she concluded that she should be direct. There wasn’t any downplaying the reasoning behind the suffering Stan had endured. So, without further delay she spoke, directly and firmly. 

 

 

‘Stanford Pines, might I ask of you a question?’ 

 

“Yes?” 

 

‘Are you aware of type one diabetes?’ 

 

 

Ford blinked, at first not understanding why Sapphira would be asking him such a question, until all at once it clicked. No, that couldn’t be correct? Could it? Was she implying that Stan was...? 

 

A groan of resignation left Stan, as he placed an arm over his face, hiding his eyes. “Of course, this might as well b'happenin’....this is fine. This is completely fine, m’so totally fine. M’fine with the events that are currently unfoldin' at this very moment n'time.” 

 

Ford might have spent a decade estranged from Stan, but he could tell when Stan definitely was not fine, and this was one of those times where Stan certainly wasn’t fine with the events currently unfolding. 

 

  
And if Ford was going to be completely honest, neither was he. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -  
> It gave you feels. 
> 
> Soooooo did I get ya?! Huh? Did I play my cards right and lead you into the false idea that Stan was actually dead?! I sure do hope that I did! ADMIT IT! I GOT YOU ALL! I GOT YOU ALL GOOD! Cause you all know what evils I am capable of!
> 
> Also don't you DARE tell me Ford wouldn't be a hysterical mess in this chapter. He'd totally be a hysterical sobbing mess. 
> 
> According to things I've heard about Journal 3 - It's stated Ford cried as he erased Stan's memories in canon and as he hugged him. 
> 
> Just imagine if Stan died for reals, or if Ford believed him dead? Yeah Ford would be an inconsolable wreck. There's no room for debate here. Ford's reaction here is canon. Sorry I don't make the rules. 
> 
>  
> 
> Journal 3 does.
> 
>  
> 
> You should know with me by now, c'mon guys. 
> 
> Do you know how I am?! I am the nonbinary woman who's doing to burn your feels down with STANGST! ALL DAY! EVERYDAY! AND EVERYNIGHT! THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM THE STANGST WITH WHICH I SHALL INFLICT UPON YOU POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS!
> 
>    
> THERE IS NO ESCAPE!
> 
>  
> 
> NO ESCAPE!
> 
>  
> 
> And oh THERE IT IS! There's the big reveal I've been wanting to spring upon all of you since I started this fanfic!
> 
>  
> 
> I would say I'm sorry, but honesty is the best policy and it wouldn't be honest of me to apologize when I'm not sorry at all! But hey, atleast we got some HELLA good bro fluff... right?
> 
> Have I atoned for my sins yet? Or did I just commit even more?
> 
> Who am I kidding, I committed even more.
> 
> AND I REGRET NONE OF IT!
> 
>  
> 
> {{Also if you know where the "choking not breathing" gag is from, you are so valid!}}
> 
> -  
> -
> 
> R xzm zhhfiv blf gszg gsrh rh rm zoo dzbh kvinzmvmg.
> 
> Hgzm rh mld z gbkv 1 wrzyvgrx. 
> 
> Gsrh droo ufigsvi xlnkorxzgv gsrmth uli gsv gdrmh zh gsvb gizevo gsv nfogrevihv. 
> 
> \-------  
> Mlg lmob droo gsvb szev gl dliib zylfg hfierermt vcgvimzo gsivzgh, yfg mld gsvb szev gl wvzo drgs zm rmgvimzo gsivzg. 
> 
> Lmv gszg xlfow vzhrob xozrn Hgzm'h oruv ru mlg nzmztvw kilkviob. 
> 
> Svb, ml lmv vevi hzrw oruv dzh tlrmt gl yv rm gsv Nfogrevihv, zmw hrmxv dsvm szh Nrhgivhh Uzgv vevi yvvm hl yvmvelovmg gl lfi wvzivhg Hgzm gdrmh?  
> __  
> Mlg vevi. 
> 
> Bvzs gszg hlfmwh zylfg irtsg.


	5. The silence grows louder, it's fight or flight, it keeps my mind cold, but I feel it break.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -  
> Sometimes you gotta let it rain.  
> So it can wash away the pain.  
> Let the tension ebb and wane.  
> So you can become brothers again.  
> -  
> -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -  
> This chapter was so damn satisfying to write. I am mostly pleased with how this chapter turned out. There isn't much I would change about it. Even though it didn't turn out quite the way I hoped it would.
> 
> Title comes from the song Anger by Sleeping At Last.  
> -  
> -

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Stanley Pines stared into a piercing gleam, it had become the bane of his very existence, his complexion had rapidly drained of color, turning him a ghostly white.

 

Every last thought within him corroborated in unison, and a bellowing shriek echoed as a clustered mesh of deranged cerebration rampaged without rhyme or reason through his cranium.

  
A jarring flinch rippled through him as he attempted to piece together his current predicament. The piercing gleam crept closer, and that’s when another shrill outcry joined within the tempest of his bewilderment.

  
He was cast away into devastating waves of dissonance and he floundered, as he struggled against the ruthless tide of his inner hysteria, vainly trying to keep himself from being plunged further into his narcosis.

 

A spark of recognition popped out of the savage disturbance that shrouded his cognition.

 

  
The shrill noises he’d been picking up on were his own inner voice blaring with delirium. His nerves fired off a dispatch of warnings, but the signals were corrupted into fuzzy static. Lost in the transmission as his awareness faltered and fractured, plummeting into cryptic obscurity.

  
His frayed mind began a chorus of shrieking, desperately urging him to understand, but the shrieks only amounted into a calamitous undecipherable mayhem.

  
Stan was unable to keep himself afloat in the turbulent commotion, any thoughts that bloomed into his subconscious wailed, failing to convey the reality of his circumstance.

  
His perception was distorted and twisted, leaving him to disorientation, he hadn’t any notion as to why he had been propelled into this state of debilitating distress.

  
As he was being spirited away by a vicious current of fight or flight, a jagged and biting pinprick of stinging discomfort burrowed into the center of the discordant uproar that lurched through him. Tidal waves of several divergent sensations assaulted every last pulsating nerve that protested this grim violation of his being.

  
Rapid and raspy breaths rattled in his lungs, his body seized with a sporadic flinch, and a frantic dismayed noise that he couldn’t conceive as his own tore viciously out of his own lungs, and took the form of a boisterous, animalistic, almost feral yowl.

 

His wild eyes peered accusingly at the piercing gleam that mocked him with its silence, and pure unfiltered loathing for the gleam boiled throughout him as it morphed into a resentful abhorrence.

  
His body quaked in trepidation, as he felt his limbs move on their own instinctual accord. Though without warning an intense heaviness bore into his upper torso; and he flailed upon his back.

 

The raw, ravaged, tender, and agitated flesh of his brand mark throbbed in protest at the unwelcome contact of his back being driven against the dusty terrain beneath him. There was only one frantic fluttering thought that he was able to fish from the riptide of this perplexity of it all.

 

The lunacy and mania had cracked just enough, that he was struck with realization, and alarm bells rang as loud as roaring thunder. The static fizzled away and his chaotic thoughts ripped apart into a harmonious clarity.

  
A chorus of chanting voices overwhelmed him, and all at once his senses awoke to the mortal peril he was facing. He was finally able to breech out of the hazy confusion and hear his own inner voice, urgent and terrified, beseeching him to immediately remove himself from the incoming hazard that loomed above him, shimmering with malice.

 

  
He was going to die! He was going to die! He was going to die!

  
There wasn’t any ifs ands or buts about it.

  
This was it, this was his end.

  
His mouth opened wide in a silent scream, and his gaze locked with the mortifying terror that triggered his descent into chaos.

 

  
“N-NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” His words manifested into a hysterical pleading squall, his entire body flailed, as he tried to free himself from the beast that restrained him, leaving him incapacitated and helpless to defend himself. “STANFORD! STANFORD! STANFORD PLEASE---!”

  
His screams tore through him, his desperate wails increasing in volume, until his words devolved into high pitched clamors. And then his entire universe collapsed in on itself and came to a crashing abrupt halt, leaving his lungs deprived of oxygen.

  
The needle plunged into his skin, driven forcefully down into his flesh, breaking the surface and sinking down into his heaving abdomen.

 

Stan’s frantic and erratic breathing intensified as his perception of reality pieced itself back together, correcting itself as his dilated pupils registered that he was gazing up into the beast’s eyes.

  
No, that wasn’t correct. It wasn’t a beast’s eyes he was gazing into. The dark featureless beast began to fall apart, shedding the illusion. To reveal that it wasn’t a beast he was beholding before him, but his twin.

  
Ford’s eyes shimmered with displeasure and scowl was contorted upon his face. He was panting heavily, as though he’d just been in some sort of struggle.

  
The needle suddenly retracted out of Stan’s abdomen, leaving behind a burning sensation. A pained gasp rattled inside Stan’s lungs, as his hands flew down to the entrance point of the needle. He felt his brother shuffle off of him, and he heard the displacement of dust signaling his brother had gotten to his feet.

  
Stan’s hands tightly clutched the stinging injection site, and then he jolted into a sit, his eyes watering and glistening with umbrage. The piercing gleam that had caused him such grief had been the needle, and the force that had left him pinned to the ground had been his twin.

  
“YOU ASS!” Stanley’s voice was seized by gruffness and contempt, as he bestowed Ford a glare that was rife with vexation. “T’HELL DID YA DO THAT FOR?! THAT FUCKING HURT, DAMN IT!"

  
A burning fury bristled through Ford as he returned a glare of his own, that was far more intimidating than Stan’s own. It was ice cold, it lacked sympathy, it was void of any emotions except for blistering animosity and discontent.

  
Ford loomed over Stan, as he discarded the insulin needle back into the pack Sapphira had generously gifted to them, before they had departed Gwyndalo’s Kingdom just a few hours ago.

  
Stan shivered and he averted his gaze, staring down at a jagged rock, focusing his gaze upon it as if it held all the secrets of life and death within it.

 

He could still feel Ford’s piercing glare burning into him... or perhaps maybe it wasn’t his brother’s glare that was burning, but the brand on his shoulder?

  
One of Stan’s hands wandered away from his abdomen and settled gently against his shoulder, lightly he pressed his fingers against it and winced.

 

His action causing pricks of pain to burst all around his brand. He took a few shaky breaths and brushed away the dust that clung to the brand. Each gentle sweep of his hand, over the agitated brand, elicited more spikes of discomfort.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Memories came rushing back to what lead up to their tussle. Stan recalled Sapphira explaining the ins and outs of type 1 diabetes, and then she had produced a needle from one of her storages.

  
In response Stan had frozen in sheer terror. He loathed needles, he despised them with every last miniscule atom of his body. Sapphira opened up the tube of the needle and let several of her golden tears fill it to the brim.

  
She capped the tube back off with the needle, then a melodious harmony filled the cave, as Sapphira began chanting in a language that Stan had no grasp of. Sapphira then bestowed the needle to them, informing them that the needle was self-replenishing and that it could be reused.

  
She had enchanted it by calling upon the spirit of her late mentor, obviously whom wasn’t a phoenix, for when they perished, the mythical birds would rise anew from their ashes.

  
After an extensive conversation, Sapphira also imparted them with another device. It was a peculiar instrument that vaguely resembled a flute. Sapphira told them that if they should lose the needle, that if they blew into the flute, that she’d be summoned to their location to bestow upon them another needle.

  
Though she warned them to be frugal with the usage of the flute, and to try to keep from losing the needles whenever they could manage it, for the flute would end up crumbling if used too often.

  
Then they left the Utopia behind them, but not before they chowed down on some grub, that was surprisingly satisfying. Gwyndalo had given them a feast of rare delicacies, and though it all looked so bizarre, they had been too hungry to give a damn.

 

They hadn’t eaten in hours and they were both ravenous. They had been walking along in silence ever since then. They hadn’t brought up the previous heart to heart they had. In fact, in Stan’s mind the whole brotherly love moment they’d exchanged felt surreal, as though it hadn’t actually happened.

 

Especially even more so, due to the careless and rough physical treatment Ford had inflicted on him.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

  
“Now you listen here Stan, if you hadn’t refused to take the shot then I wouldn’t have---,” Ford began, tersely, his instinctual reaction was to chide Stan for his stubborn refusal to take the medicine he needed to survive.

 

However, when he noticed the way his brother was drooping like a wilted flower, he realized his error, and he changed his tone, letting it grow softer. “Look, Stanley it wasn’t my intent to be so... rough with you.”

  
Bitter embers of irritation sparked and crackled within Stan and he avoided Ford’s gaze.

 

Opting instead to turn his head away, and look out to the horizon where the twin suns were descending, dusk would soon stretch across the sky. He muttered under his breath, though his voice was muted and low, and whatever he said was vague.

 

Ford rubbed at his temples, pangs of instant regret surging through his thoughts. He shook his head to shake away the regretful pangs. “Come again?”

 

Stan groaned deeply and his words were curt and cutting, “Yeah, sure sure. Not your intent! Just like it wasn’t my intent to break your stupid project or push ya in here. Yet I still have to face consequences, jus’ gimme some time by m’self Ford. Seriously, ya held me down against my will, an plunged that needle n’my abdomen! Y’know damn well that I hate the damn things. So... yeah forgive me if I don’t wanna look at ya or talk to ya right now.”

  
Ford’s jaws clenched shut as he listened to Stan’s sharp and gruff reply. He felt as though he’d been Left Hooked in the guts. Guilt and regret clawed at his insides, however as the urgency to deflect Stan’s verbal assault began smoldering, he lost whatever restrain he had.

  
His hands became tight balled fists, and the grating and vehement words gushed out of him, and he was helpless to stop them. His switch of sensibility flicked off, and he just let loose the aggravation he’d been trying to bury since they’d made their harrowing escape from the Nightmare Realm.

  
“Stanley, I swear that holding you down was necessary! You wouldn’t take your insulin, you know that if you refuse to take your injections, that it will become grimly detrimental. You could die, and you almost did die! Damned if I let that happen again without putting up a fight! I’m being completely sincere when I say that I’d rather have you infuriated with me, than you being deceased!”

  
Stanley didn’t answer him, and Ford couldn’t come to a decision on what was worse. The fact Stan was flat out reusing to acknowledge him, or the fact that he shuddered and put more distance between the two of them.

  
A groan rumbled in his vocal cords as he pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusting his glasses when the motion knocked them slightly askew. “Stanley you’re acting like a damn child, stop facing away from me, and look at me while I’m speaking with you!”

 

Silence and the cold shoulder were all that answered Ford.

 

That and Stan curled in on himself, dragging his knees up and squeezing them against his abdomen and chest. He also appeared to be rocking himself back and forth ever so slightly.

  
This only fueled more heat to the fiery rage, and irate embers began flickering to life. His irritation rapidly spiraled to dangerous levels of contempt, and then behind it was a tidal wave of reluctance, every cell that traversed through his body was pleading at him to fall into silence.

  
He wished he wasn’t about to dig deep into past grievances, he didn’t want to reopen those festering and sensitive topics, yet he couldn’t locate his control. The obligation to justify his actions from ten years prior was far too potent, and he didn’t hold back with a cruel tirade using the buried pains of Stan’s betrayals of his trust as his incentive to berate him.

  
Though deep down inside of him, somewhere was a pitiful hushed murmur, that was speaking the truth. He was more pissed off at himself than at Stanley, and he wasn’t the least bit taken aback by this epiphany that dove into his awareness. But with nowhere else for his fiery rage to escape to, his brother was the only one he could project his own vitriol upon. So, that his consciousness would finally be able to relinquish all the sickening guilt; and agony surging through him like the electrons that jolted through his electron carpet back in their dimension.

  
“You cannot possibly fathom how cross I am with you, nor can you imagine the way you push all the right buttons to set me off. I do not have any desire to bicker with you in such a belligerent demeanor, however…”

  
He came to stand himself in front of Stan, his arms crossed, and his expression scrunched. While his chocolate optics gleamed with the vexatious woe of a decade gone by. The twin suns cast a grim shadow over Ford's twin who curled in on himself even more.

  
Stanley swallowed back a pitiful lump of anxiety as Ford’s shadow fell like a veil over him, and he truly believed that his twin’s shadow was going to begin devouring him.

 

He knew that this was a completely ludicrous notion to put stock in, he was a con man and buying into preposterous ideals such as this wasn’t something he’d ever fallen victim to.

  
It was foolhardy and it went against everything in his nature, but he couldn’t keep the distressing innervation at bay. It crashed down into him with the force of a lightning strike, and shock waves crept up his spine, chilling him to his very bones.

  
He was rapidly plunging into the void that was his twin’s oppressive umbra. This time around Ford wouldn’t be saving him from his own self inflicted burdens; that had grown into a mountainous decade’s worth of worthlessness and self loathing.

  
Ford was dead on the mark saying that he’d brought the ruination of his own life upon himself. Ford was ever in the right and Stan was ever in the wrong. And it was in this epoch in the art of marching time, vast and everlasting, seemingly without a terminus, that Stan yearned to dissolve into Ford’s shadow.

  
In that regard he’d always be walking side by side with Ford as he always yearned, yet he’d liberated from all the excruciating heart-rending turmoil that had built up within him. The perfect storm and Stan himself were about to rupture asunder in the demented and macabre brutality of it all.

  
Stanford’s tenebrous shadow was all Stanley Pines is and ever was. That’s all he ever would be, forevermore, beneath his self righteous and egotistical older brother.

 

If Stan were capable of becoming one with Ford’s shadow, in not just the metaphorical sense, but in the physical sense, he would do so in a damn heartbeat. Being Ford’s shadow would be a serendipitous blessing, in which his brother could walk upon him, to his malevolent and vindictive heart’s content.

 

Never giving him a second thought, for why would he do so, shadows aren’t anything phenomenal or memorable. A shadow was just a dark, desolate and frigid hollow nebulous.

 

That fit good ol’ pitiful, forgettable, and meaningless Stanley Pines to a solid ‘T’.

   
Stan was captured by a conniption of riotous, booming, petulant and hollow chortles, which caused Ford to visibly recoil. This bellowing laughter was nothing short of a mocking bastardization of Stan’s famous deep and jovial laughter.

 

Of which Ford would trade anything in the world to hear, instead of the alarming deranged parody strumming viciously upon his twin’s vocal chords.

  
Stan had lived as Ford’s shadow his entire life. Ford’s shadow was always cast over him, shrouding him into its obscurity. Ford’s shadow was his home, the one place he was able to seek refuge in when the world became too much even for him to endure.

  
He was nothing at all, just a trick of the light. Only an entity popping into existence when he danced in someone else’s spotlight. Only someone when he was anyone else but himself.

  
Everyone cared not for pathetic little Stanley Pines, and it’s only when he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t that he found a euphoric high as all the world’s eyes were on him.

 

But when he floated back to the murky and desolate harbors that were his own, the harbors that linked him with his name, his barren sea… he plummeted and sunk like a steel anchor below into rough seas and levees that were born of his own sense of self.

  
Stanley Pines was only seen, but never heard. Silent just like a shadow.

  
Here with the light and gone with the night.

  
No one ever gave the shadow a second thought, much less ever missed it when it was cast away, receding as it seeped into all the other shadows that cast their own darkness upon the light and its warmth. Something that the shadow was forever denied, something it could never truly be apart of.

 

So with that being squared away…

  
Why would Ford miss his shadow?

  
Why would Ford ever miss Stanley Pines?

  
Why would Ford ever miss him?

 

“Stanley..?” The name left Ford’s numb lips in the form of a hesitant dubiety, he knelt down and peered at his brother, his eyes trying to decode the reasoning behind the madness that had taken a tyrannical rule over Stanley.

 

“Stan…?” He rose his hands up and outstretched them, gradually he reached for Stan’s cheeks and cupped them in his palms.

  
“Stanley, hey!” He gently clapped his hands against his cheeks, trying to reel him back into reality. “What’s…what’s wrong?” His inquiry sounded hollow, and he mentally cursed his lack of ability to brother.

  
How did one brother? A decade of his own self imposed isolation had burned a blaze through his emotional attachment towards his family.

  
Blame the arson for the fire.

  
For he had burned the bonds that kept him and his family linked together. Now they were frayed and severed. Alas no matter how he approached the bonds, he knew not how to reconnect them. How was he to mend the frayed ends?

  
How did he repair what had been so thoughtlessly cleaved by the embers of detachment?

  
Yet, a glaring dilemma would ever linger even if he connected the path through the dauntless labyrinth; and breached the exit to the resolution that had thus far eluded him.

 

Mocking him with its cruel indifference as he metaphorically charged frantically, and aimlessly throughout the endless stretching corridors of his mind.

  
Even if he was rewarded with the knowledge on how to repair the connections, what if it was far too late to do so? What if one of the frayed ends decided it had enough of being burned by the other? What if it knotted itself up and never uncoiled again? Leaving the connection severed for all time?

  
“Nothin’.” The reply was just as hollow sounding as Ford’s own voice, and he hated it. “It’s nothin’ at all, Poindexter.”

 

The way Stan was acting sent an icy chill up and down Ford’s spinal cord, as if the bone itself was a large icicle that numbed him, and left him disconnected to those who should matter the most to him.

 

He arched a brow in an accusatory manner, “Stanley I would appreciate it if you did not look me in the eyes and lie. I am certain whatever is going on with you, is not in fact nothing.”

  
Stan’s gaze waned and transitioned his sights to the dusty ground. He muttered lowly, yet his words didn’t land. They were too faint to be heard, the dusty landscape around them muting the noise with its particles.

  
Ford’s frown pulled taut and the softness in his eyes vanished, sharp unfiltered irritation now taking its place. A deep groan arose and rumbled in his chest, as it swirled around his lungs, mixing and dispersing out into the nearly impenetrable silence, but what was released wasn’t a groan, it was a growl.

  
“You are impossible!” He retracted his hands swiftly away from Stan’s face and pushed himself to his feet, pressing his hands to his temples, rubbing furiously as he aimed to stave off the onslaught of an oncoming migraine.

  
Another one of those sickening and disgusting parody laughs seized Stanley as he pushed himself to his feet, he glared pointedly at his twin. His facial expression shifting and then settling into something rather disturbing yet pained all at once.

  
A hideous, twisted wicked grin stretched itself across Stan’s face, yet his eyes were misted with unshed lamentation. “I’M IMPOSSIBLE?! I’M IMPOSSIBLE!?” His hands shot up in a harsh jerking motion, more mortifying cackles shook his body violently.

  
“YA MIGHT WANNA LOOK IN A MIRROR THERE POINDEXTER! YA THINK I’M IMPOSSIBLE!? LOOK AT YOU! I ACCIDENTALLY BREAK YA STUPID MACHINE AND THEN YA DIDN’T HEAR NOTHIN’ I SAID! YA BLOCKED ME OUT! YA SHUT ME OUT! YA WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO REASON WITH! THEN YA LET PA KICK ME TA THE CURB, AND ABANDONED ME! YA AN’ PA BOTH BASICALLY LEFT ME TA DIE! I COULDA DIED!” He took a hefty stride towards Ford and poked him harshly in his shoulder, his wicked grin now replaced with an equally disturbing scowl.

  
Ford was left without words as Stanley’s perfect storm rained down in a torrential downpour of fierce outrage that burned agony deep into his core, as he shuffled back a foot or two, his pupils dilated as Stan’s grating and painful words collided with his ear drums and reverberated in antagonistic succession.

  
The pulverizing assault on his ear drums ebbed and receded; with the flawless rhythm of the newly formed palpitations residing in his heart. Though the pain was washed away violently, as a surging wave passed through him and he deflected Stan’s hostility.

  
He twisted it around and sent it snapping back towards him like a rubber band when pulled back too far, it was just as intense and exacerbating as Stan’s condemnation.

 

“THAT WASN’T MY FAULT, AND PERHAPS YOU NEED A MIRROR, SO YOU CAN REALIZE HOW MUCH YOU NEED GLASSES! IF YOU’RE BLIND ENOUGH TO ASSUME THAT IT’S MY FAULT YOU WERE KICKED OUT, THEN YOU’RE BLIND AS A GOD DAMN CHIROPTERA! ALSO I THOUGHT WE HAD LEFT THIS BEHIND US!? I ASSUMED THAT WHAT HAPPENED WAS IN THE PAST---”

  
“WELL YA ASSUMED WRONG! SHOCKING AIN’T IT? FINALLY GOT THE JUMP ON YA THIS TIME! FINALLY, I’M IN THE RIGHT, FOR ONCE!” Stan shot back, his entire frame trembling with the strenuous exertion of the burning out of his lungs if this altercation escalated any further and became more amplified.

  
The argument intensifying is something Ford wasn’t too keen on, though Stan seemed to have no gripes with their argument. It was as though he’d been itching for an argument such as this.

  
Perhaps in an odd way, this was somehow therapeutic for his twin. Despite the venomous coldness Stan was display towards him, Ford could see a hint of something else shimmering just below the cracks of Stanley’s surface tension.

  
Disgust cascaded over Ford as a rather equivocal communed; within his mind for a few seconds before he came to the verdict to execute his unusual method against his brother.

 

He knew the agony would be a misery to endure, but if his calculations were seamless then it would all be worth it in the end. The end justifies the means, as the old saying went.

 

“STANLEY GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF! PA KICKED YOU OUT, NOT ME. THAT WASN’T MY CHOICE DAMN IT, AND PERHAPS IF YOU INFORMED ME OF WHAT HAPPENED TO MY PROJECT INSTEAD OF TRYING TO CONCEAL WHAT YOU DID THEN YOU FA-“

 

“NO! DON’T YA DARE FINISH WHAT T’HELL YA WERE ‘BOUT TO SAY! IF YA WAS GONNA TALK ‘BOUT FACING CONSEQUENCES WHEN I ALREADY HAVE BEEN! FOR A FUCKIN’ DECADE! YA LEFT ME ALL ALONE YA JERK! DID YA EVEN CARE IF I WAS ALIVE OR DEAD!? WHAT DID YOU DO FORD? WHEN PA SHOVED ME INTO THE COLD? WHAT DID YA DO? WHAT DID YA DO?! NOTHIN’! YA DIDN’T EVEN FIGHT FOR ME!” Stan howled his voice had risen octaves, grating and fierce like a wild beast on the verge of attack. He fumed like a match, his face was bright red, drenched in sweat and he panted heavily. His eyes were glazed over with barely withheld tears.

  
Ford’s words shriveled up and died in his vocals, his jaw clenched shut so fiercely that his teeth clicked sharply in protest, the pressure placed upon his teeth was nearly shattering.

  
He could feel the roaring rush of blood through his veins and the erratic fluttering of pulse in his temples.

 

Ford remained rigid and reserved, regarding his brother guardedly, his objective was to observe his brother and surmise his brother’s next course of action. He could only hope he was right. He put his method into motion and waited...

 

Ford’s silence spoke volumes.

 

The way Ford was glaring at him, the way he let his words go unanswered. It was like Stan was staring into the disappointed face of his father. Stan’s breathing stilled as his pupils slanted into slits. A feral roar detonated through his vocals, it became mangled and barbaric.

   
“YOU FUCKING SONOVABITCH!”

  
Stan’s leg muscles bunched and he lowered himself, like a wild cat on the hunt, and without warning he pounced. His entire body sailed like a fired bullet through the sky. He collided into Ford, and they both fell like a pair of pine trees. They tumbled clumsily and haphazardly upon the dusty terrain. Floundering about like slippery fish out of the ocean blue.

  
They were both a mangled screaming mess, as they struggled to claim the upper hand on each other. In the end Ford’s exhaustion from several nights of forgoing slumber caught up with him. A cloud of dust billowed and swirled around them, Ford felt his entire body collide mercilessly against the unforgiving terra firma. His lungs protested in vain, constricting as the oxygen voided his lungs, escaping in the form of a raspy wheeze.

 

He felt something jagged, perhaps a rock, puncture deeply into the back of his cranium. His entire sense of perception blanked into a black abysmal void, the void stretched on for what appeared to be an eternity. However in reality the darkness his chocolate optics were exposed to lasted for only a moment. As the darkness receded, like storm clouds breaking way to a clear sunny summer’s day, his vision was greeted with Stan looming over him, his left hand curled into a fist, dead set on pulverizing his face in.

   
Ford instinctively rose his arms up to protect himself, but the motion halted as a little voice inside of him spoke bitterly that he deserved this. He deserved this pain Stan would going to inflicted upon him, he ceased his movements and let his arms fall, outstretched at his sides. He gazed into Stan’s tear ridden face, resignation taking hold of him.

 

  
“YOU IGNORANT, HIGHFALUTIN, STUCK UP BASTARD!”

 

  
Stan’s hand plunged down towards Ford’s face, and his body gave off an involuntary flinch---

  
Ford’s eyes slipped closed and he braced himself for the strike. He deserved this, he had to deserve this, in some shape or form. This was his punishment for leaving his little brother to fend to himself against a harsh world. This was Stan’s retribution, a retribution that had been a long time coming. Ford deserved anything and everything Stan was about to inflict upon him.

  
Ford knew this to be the divine truth, he couldn’t even begin to unravel all the dreadful and repulsive experiences Stan must have undergone for a decade. A decade that was no doubt rife with agony and torment to the highest degree. Ford’s mind swirled in a flurry of imaginings as he could just picture a multitude of gruesome scenarios that caused his heart to ache.

 

He could imagine Stan shivering miserably in his car during the winter, he could see him becoming involved in criminal activity only to be punished in such torturous ways, hell for all was aware Stanley could have… he could have even been… his thoughts devolved into dark places. Every scenario presented to Ford was more morbid than the last. Haunting imagery flashed before the eyes of his mind, like the click of camera lenses, forever to immortalize it all.

  
He imagined Stan lying somewhere in an alleyway, curled up in a puddle of dark crimson, struggling to tend to all his horrific wounds. Vividly Ford was subject to witnessing Stan in such a multitude of situations, in which the world was so unjustly cruel to him.Ford inwardly begged frantically for these thoughts to cease, he couldn’t bear them any longer. They were breaking him apart, all he could feel was agony. It invaded his body like venom from a serpentine, it latched upon every blood cell it could claim and traversed throughout him.

  
Burning, horrific and merciless, his body was an inferno. Ford deserved whatever agony that Stan felt within him, he deserved to feel every last ounce of it. Whatever Stan had gone through, Ford knew he deserved to feel tenfold. This was his comeuppance for abandoning his kind-hearted little brother, someone who he failed to protect and cherish, with everything he had.

 

All of it was his fault, everything that ever befell Stan was his fault. So whatever Stan’s intentions were, whatever his little brother wished, he was free to do. He could deliver as much woe he desired onto him. If this was what Stan needed so that he may release his anguish, then Ford would willingly oblige. Yet the punch never came, all he felt was a rush of air, causing his bangs to ruffle and tickle against his forehead.

  
Then he felt...

  
Rain? No, that wasn’t right? Tears? Yes, they were warm droplets splashing against his face. Then he realized a gentle hand was pressing upon his cheek. He cracked open a single eye and his sights met Stan’s.

  
Stan’s entire body was trembling, a mixture of shaky sobs and gasps heaved through him. Stan brushed his thumb against Ford’s cheek. He then pushed himself off of Ford and stifled his wretched sobs within the palms of his hands. “F-Fuck...” Stan whimpered lowly, as he tried to regain control over his own mentality and physical body. He hadn’t been able to land the Left Hook, his trusty Left Hook, that had never once failed him.

 

However, as he had brought his fist downwards towards his brother, he had flinched and snapped his eyes closed. Everything inside of Stan had screamed for him to desist, and so he had given up his attack, opting instead to, of all things, attempt to soothe any terror that he might have caused Ford.

 

“I jus’ I jus’ wish it could go back to the way it was before! To the way we was before!” Stan’s tears rolled down his cheeks, he cradled his legs against his torso again, and began to rock back and forth, staring dully ahead of him.

 

After his heart beat settled back into its normal rhythm, Ford pushed himself up and knelt next Stan. He placed his hand on Stan’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Curiosity gripped him as he tried to figure out why Stan hadn’t followed through in dishing out the punishment that was rightfully justified.Though he pushed his bewilderment to the back burner, his little brother needed him and he wasn’t about to fail him once more.

 

Ley needed him now, just as he needed him then. He wasn’t going to abandon him now…or ever again. “Stanley… things can never go back to the way they were before. Time goes on, people change, we’ve changed... everything is different, and things come to an end.”

 

Stanley’s gaze met his, and Ford’s heart broke in half as he realized his error, Stan had taken what he’d said in the wrong way in which he’d intended.

 

“Stanley I…I didn’t mean it in that regard, I didn’t mean that… that we….that us…as brothers have come to an end. I just….” He took in a deep breath and exhaled, so that he was able to quell his thoughts into a state of sensibility. “What I’m trying to say is that life has many chapters, and that when one chapter ends, another may begin and perhaps for the better. Stanley, we cannot go back to how we were before like in our adolescence, but… we can make it better than before.”

  
Ford rose to his feet and offered Stanley his hand, and when Stan reached out and grasped it, he helped pull him up. Their hands unlinked from each other, and the two brothers stared at each other, neither of them moving an inch or speaking. That was until Ford outstretched his arms and waited, giving Stan a gentle and reassuring smile, Stan tiredly collapsed into the awaiting embrace. The two of them stood there, neither of them spoke.

  
All they did was breathe.

 

The tension that had shrouded them like a mist evaporated, and all that remained was two weepy eyed brothers, holding each other so tightly, in the notion that if they released one another that they might just disappear.

 

Ford was the first to break the quiet, “So uh… I’m under the impression it’s safe to assume I won’t be receiving one of your famous left hooks?” A low nervous chuckle followed after his words, a gentle smile upon his face, as he slightly pulled himself away, so he was able to see his brother’s face.

  
Stan’s forlorn gaze met Ford’s and he shook his head, before he slumped against Ford, exhaustion settling in. “Too tired…maybe some other time, bro.”

  
Ford rolled his eyes and shook his head, as he gently rubbed Stan’s back soothingly. “Why did you really stop?”

  
“I’m not Pa.” Stan muttered with a shudder, “I... I already punched ya once…and…I couldn’t do it again. Cause then I’d be just like Pa, when he was pissed at me. Ya… ya didn’t deserve me punching ya in your face, no matter how pissed I was at ya Ford. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have done it…” His flowing tears started up again, soaking into the fabric of Ford’s coat.

 

The reason Stan hadn’t been able to bring himself to punch Ford, was a memory had consumed him, a memory of when he was a boy. Cowering before his father, flinching away, just as his father brought down his fist upon him.

 

The way Ford had flinched, was ultimately what prevented Stan from delivering the blow. He couldn’t hurt Ford again, he’d already done so in their tussle before they ended up sucked through the portal. If he punched him now it would be deliberate, and it would make Stan just as terrible as their father. Although Ford had brought him pain in their skirmish, that pain wasn't intended, at least when Ford hurt him it had been an accident. Stan’s pain came from being a victim of poor circumstances.

 

Ford never wished to harm him, so in turn Stan stopped himself and reminded himself that he didn't want to hurt Ford. He had just missed him so damn much. Stan wasn’t sure what he expected Ford’s next words to be, but he was sure as hell not expecting them to be what he heard.

   
“Pa hit you?” Ford’s tone of voice was mortified, shock and horror clearly reflected within his tone. “Stanley why…why didn’t you tell me?!”

  
“I uh…I thought that ya… already knew. Heh… gu-guess I uh…was wrong ‘bout that too. But… there was nothin’ ya coulda done Poindexter. He woulda hurt ya too…” Stan’s words held no emotion to them, it would seem that he was sinking into a pit of despondency.

 

“Stanley…” Ford tightened his embrace around Stan, coming to realize just how broken he truly was. The very revelation that their father had physically brought harm to Stan was repulsive. How could he have missed the signs? How could he have been so damn blind to Stan’s plight? How had he never known?

 

“I’m sorry P-Poindexter I… didn’t want ta hurt ya, not really. I jus’…I jus’ missed ya so damn much.” Stanley admitted, with a shaky sigh, remorse and guilt laced into every single word. “M’sorry Ford.”

 

“I missed you too.” Ford replied his voice a soft murmur of sincerity, he removed his hold from around his brother and cupped his hands against Stan’s cheeks. He tilted Stan’s head upwards so that he could rest his forehead against Stan’s forehead. “It took me so long to realize it… but I missed you Stan and I..I’m…”

 

“I know Poindexter.” Stan muttered, a hint of mirth flickered in his tone. “Ya can’t help that you’re a huge dork, an that even though ya don’t look it, ya got a sensitive heart. Heh… I jus’ wish that I could believe ya missed me… I know that… that I… I should believe ya but…” He trailed off, unable to finish, talking hurt so damn much.

 

And if he didn’t shut his yap, he knew that he’d fall back into harsh sobs. And the last thing he wanted to do right now was cry like a damn baby, he was sick and tired of crying.

  
“It’s hard for you to believe.” Ford finished his unspoken words for him. “I understand, and it’s alright Stan. I… I abandoned you, and left you all alone for ten years. I'm not surprised in why you are having difficulty believing I missed you. But, I assure you that I’m going to rectify it, and I’ll make you believe it. Even if it entails that I have to tell you at the end of every day that I missed you, and I’ll keep telling you until you know it’s the truth.”

 

Stan couldn’t help but give a choked up laugh, “Yeesh, alright, yeah that….that sounds uhm, yeah good, uh…th-thanks.”

 

“Indeed, right so uh that’s…uh that. It’s settled, I decree it will be our brotherly ritual before we go to sleep.” Ford cleared his throat, before he chuckled as well, feeling as if they'd just broken down one of the barriers that still separated them. One barrier down... and still so many more to shatter.

 

"I uh... I have to admit that staying silent when you asked me if I cared or not, wasn't one of my more well thought out plans." Ford muttered as he pulled his forehead away from Stan's and smiled sheepishly.

 

"What...?" Stan huffed out, "T'hell would ya stay silent for?"

  
"I uh...well I thought that perhaps if I didn't say anything, then you'd be able to uhm... let it all out? You were holding back, so I uh guessed if I didn't say anything then..." Ford replied awkwardly, averting his gaze.

  
Stan blinked before he shook his head, and burst out into laughter, "Ya God damn dork! That was...why would ya? You're insane, Poindexter. What's wrong with you?" He lightly punched Ford's shoulder.

 

"Not as insane as you are, Knucklehead." Ford countered, though there wasn't any vitriol to his voice, just playful teasing. He ruffled his hand through Stan's mullet in retaliation, making it even more of a wild and untamed mess.

  
"Ford!" Stan cried out in protest through his laughter, he struggled to free himself, though he didn't put up much of a fight. It was obvious he wasn't intending to escape at all. "You're messing up my devilishly handsome mullet!"

  
"I'm not apologizing for this, besides," Ford informed, a mischievous grin had settled on his face, "it’s a tangled and matted mess- first chance I get I'm cutting it!"

  
Stan let out a mock shriek as he struggled even more against his brother's hold, "STANFORD, NO!”

  
“STANFORD YES!”

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

Their laughter echoed across the dusty landscape, and only faded away with the coming of eventide. The twins had found somewhere to settle down for the night.

 

And underneath the glow of their warm fire, and the gentle silver illuminating glow of the moon, Ford and Stan lie cuddled up together. 

 

Just as they had done so many times before as children, when they had fallen asleep atop an old blanket on the beach, tuckered out from a busy day of working on the Stan O' War.

 

They slumbered soundly, both of them finally finding solace for the first time in a decade.

  
The end to the road to recovery burned brightly like a thousand shooting stars, it loomed in the horizon waiting for them to arrive.

 

  
They still had a long way to go.

  
But where ever they go, they go together.

  
And they’d get there.

  
As brothers.

  
Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -  
> -  
> Poor boys. They still have a lot to work out. Both of them are so damaged.  
> It's gonna take a lot of time and work but they'll get there...  
> One day.  
> If you enjoyed this chapter please feel free to leave kudos, maybe book mark this story, or leave a review~  
> See you next chapter!  
> -  
> -


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